THE GLOOM OF LAKE MOON- BOOK THE FIRST: THE DARKENING SCHEME
by MadameMorganLeFay
Summary: Morgana learns of a hidden, deadly stretch of water in Albion called Lake Moon, from where very few men have returned alive. She hatches a complex and cunning scheme to lure Arthur there... to his death.
1. Chapter 1- Lake Moon Creates The Scheme

**BOOK THE FIRST: THE DARKENING SCHEME**

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Title: The Gloom of Lake Moon  
Category: Multi (Canon AU)  
Characters: Morgana, Arthur, Merlin, Guinevere, Agravaine, OC's  
Pairings: Morgana/Merlin, Arthur/Guinevere, Morgana/Agravaine  
Rating: T+  
Morgana hatches a particularly complex and cunning scheme to rid herself of Arthur Pendragon, and restore the throne to her hands.

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**CHAPTER 1- Lake Moon Creates the Scheme**

A dark, poky hovel could be found in the lush green forests that surrounded Camelot. However, it could not be distinguished from the multitude of ivy that drooped down to the ground, guarding the oaken front door, but it was there all the same. Therefore, its owner deemed this anonymous abode to be perfectly suited to her purposes.

Inside the visitor would be struck by the homeliness of the place; how they might smell cooking stew, various herbs, the scent of wildflowers and incense. Piles of books lay everywhere, dresses were flung into a corner and combs, clasps and nightclothes could be found heaped on a large table. Any wanderer might think that they had stumbled onto the home of a precocious hermit.

But they hadn't.

For this particular hovel was the dwelling place of the last and most feared High Priestess Morgana Pendragon, and where she sat even now inside, at a old yet clean wooden table, poring through a heavy, gnarled tome: ''Mysticale Thoughtes''. She was the cunning, estranged sister to King of Camelot, the celebrated and well-respected Arthur Pendragon. But in the eyes of a sorceress such as herself her eyes, he was a vile traitor to her kind. When he had chosen to follow the old ways of Uther, he had unwittingly also chosen to be her sworn enemy, and even her self-imposed exile after a failed coup for the throne was insufficient to stymy her righteous and vengeful mission to kill Arthur and retake her place as undisputed ruler over Camelot.

On days that she was not conniving and plotting, she was reading. Morgana had always loved books, though her place as a ward and a woman had not provided her with many opportunities to indulge her favourite past-time. Now, alone and free, she had amassed a significant collection of magical literature, and would often be found spending long afternoons studying as much as she could, just as she had done with her late sister, Morgause. Her favourite topic was self-defense and attack, hence the reason for her reading this particular tome, "Mysticale Thoughtes".

Within its yellowed pages were a myriad of devious spells for every fighting desire a sorcerer could think of: throwing an enemy backwards, strangulation, disembowellment, anything. Curious and enthralled, the dark High Priestess was eager to try out almost each new spell or incantation she came across. Each time she stretched out her hand, concentrated, repeated the words of the curse, enchantment, the result was always near-perfect. In that case she must be strong, for she was a spectacular sorceress- indeed, the very last of her kind. Nevertheless, it was encouraging for her to be reassured that her powers were in excellent shape, for they would be of the greatest use to her in her bid to destroy her nemesis, Arthur Pendragon, and all those who ensured that despite the best laid plans, he lived up till now.

Morgana smiled in satisfaction as she neatly split apart a jar (which contained the mind-dominating Fomorroh), that stood in a precariously arranged stack of shelves in front of her, and then remoulded it again so not a single trace remained of the crack before. She rose, and went over to inspect it, unsure of whether her execution of the spell had been as exact as it had seemed. No, she had done it perfectly. Afterwards, she moved over to the crackling fire, where a pot of stew bubbled happily; it was not quite ready, but that was no problem; she wasn't very hungry anyway.

She removed herself back to the table, and delved into the wonders of ''Mysticale Thoughtes'' again. This time, she turned to a page which bore an intricate ink drawing of a misty, rock-strewn, icy, grayish-blue stretch of water, called Lake Moon. The heading of the double-spread was ''The Horrors of Lake Moone'', inscribed onto yellowed paper in half-faded ink. Intrigued, Morgana read on:

___''None of the mysteries of this worlde are so frightfulle as that of Lake Moone,"_ the author (named Golyn Tatael) asserted in his opening lines. Morgana frowned, not having heard of this place despite her travels across Albion, and yet something inside her told her to read on, as if a plan was already forming inside her mind, without her knowledge or even mere notice that she was drawing something from inside these withered pages.

_____"This accursed- but secrete stretche of water so greate Moone could almoste be named a sea, lies in such a deepe heartlande of Albione that onlie the moste hardiest of men would dare to traverse hostile terraine in order to reach it's outermost fringes. It is those of even more valour who would then dare to touche its waters with the bottom of a cog. For of the manie who have tried to cross Lake Moone, only three have returned. I am such a man; my dear friendes, sadly, were not."_

Morgana sat back in her chair, now able to see the direction in which her agile mind was headed; the machinations that had been forming as she read the chilling introduction to Lake Moon. Suppose...she cracked half a smile, her eyes glinting momentarily. Yet...she hunched over the book again, and decided that despite the plan that was beginning to take shape in her malign thoughts, she needed more material in which to create the finished piece.

_____"Manie men who were unfortunate enough to know of the existence of Lake Moone (for indeed, manie do not) of the five kingdoms took wretched prisoners to the Fortress of Acath in the middle of this Lake, and locked them away, where they starved to death and their poor soules knew no peace. Let any man be chained to the hellish stone walls of this Fortress, or let him even be taken onto the Lake itself and he is moste likelie never to see dry land again."_

Morgana drew back again, this time her smile wide, and fixed upon her features. Here was her vice. If she could somehow lure Arthur Pendragon to this mystical lake, then surely he would not stand a chance. Finally, she would be rid of him. What she needed, was a medium by which Arthur could be willingly- or forcefully led to this desolate death trap, kill him and then return, ready to take the throne of Camelot. Perhaps it sounded idealistic at this stage- Morgana still saw many holes inside her scheme, but there was no mistaking the bright glint in her eyes or the flutter of excitement in her stomach. Yes, many of her schemes had been foiled thanks to the tireless efforts of Artur's devoted little puppy Merlin, but with a place as dark and foreboding as this, did even that interfering serving boy have the ability to stop her?

She considered for a moment, wondering whether either the King or his manservant had heard of "Mysticale Thoughtes". Most likely not, seeing as Arthur followed the old prejudices against magic. A well-worn flare of anger surged within her at that thought, but this time it was quelled by the promise of forthcoming victory.

She smiled, and turned the page, reading on:

_____"For fearsome creatures roam this lake, preying on the unfortunate soules who have tasked themselves to be brave. Horrors, indeed, of the like that I hope never to see again. I saw Pentaclus, the mightie tentacled fiend, and his fatal spawne, the fungus Micolus Micolus, that suffocated its victimes with spores that grew inside and out of their mouthes until they fell into a deep sleepe, and were deceased. I saw Pisces Anglus, who sawed through the bodies of men with his teethes, I saw Serpenta, a serpente of the seas, who ate through boates and swallowed up manie a poor soule completlie whole. Such are the frights that await anyone who dares travel to Lake Moone. Yet as so manie die, so few know."_

The High Priestess was smiling in a manner that could almost be described as feral or manic, despite the gruesome nature of the words she was reading. Her eyes brightened, aflame with the delights of yet another of her signature hellish plots. Yes, Arthur Pendragon would be caught this time...and anyone else who stood in her way...

Morgana frowned, two names standing out amoungst all the others: Merlin, and Guinevere. They were, come to think of it, a significant glitch in the plan, for they seemed to watch over Arthur with eyes that could render any wicked shroud transparent once they caught wind of its presence. They were a liability- and such obstacles must be crushed... but how? Perhaps... should Arthur be lured to this Lake, then Merlin and Guinevere might well follow. That was it- the key, is that those two stuck to Arthur like glue. So let them join him! She did not object to the notion that they might well be taken care of by the terrifying monsters that lurked beneath the surface if Lake Moon. She could kill three birds with one stone! No Arthur, meant the throne was hers; no Merlin meant that his greatest ally was out of her way... and no Guinevere also cleared the path to the throne. Excellent! She might have to use force, but they all must go. But need she have worried? Arthur would definitely take Merlin; he seemed very fond of the boy, and the boy, for some reason, was unquestioningly loyal to him. Well, let the price be high for that loyalty...

Yes, let this be her plan, and surely then she would win at last. All she needed know was to further study the tome gripped in her excited hands- a route to Lake Moon would be needed, for example- and to summon Agravaine so that they could begin to plot their revenge together, constructing the means by which all three of her enemies should be disposed of.

However, at that precise moment, her stomach began to growl insistently. Morgana frowned. Hunger was annoying... but she could not starve, no matter how much she wanted Arthur dead.

"Goodbye, Arthur," she whispered, before closing the book to attend to her meal.

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Alright, so I have the majority of this written out on HoC- that is all 19 chapters of Book One, and the first two chapters of Book Two. I have enhanced this chapter here to patch up some holes that are present in the original script. If you like mystery and adventure, then this is th story for you, but there is also romance inside as well. I will probably be posting additions two or three times a week, so stay tuned if you want.


	2. Chapter 2- The Scheme is Prepared

So... I got a favourite from someone pretty quickly, so I might just add another chapter for today.

**Pairings for this Story:** Morgana/Agravaine, Morgana/Merlin, Arthur/Guinevere

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**CHAPTER 2- The Scheme is Prepared**

A slow, sensuous and predatory smile spread across Agravaine's face when Morgana finished informing him of what she enthusiastically described as the "ultimate way" to rid them of Arthur Pendragon once and for all. She had lost no time in summoning him to her hovel two days later, and he, having suffered from the large time lapse since their last meeting had been quick to obey, as always.

Yet for all his pains to see her again, he hadn't really been listening to every single word she had said so far- at least not in the right order. He was, instead, far too mesmerized by the healthy glow in her eyes, the pronounced movements of her red lips and those enticing laced sleeves she often liked to wear. It was only when he heard the words "Arthur", "kill" and a sinister chuckle- all in the same phrase- that he tuned back into the gist of what she was explaining to him, and agreed wholeheartedly that this plan was a good one.

Only after a few minutes, during which Morgana had repeated a few of the main facts again to emphasise the unique nature of her devilish scheme, did he truly start to appreciate her genius, and then smile. Yes, she was right- this was very likely to work. He took a sip of warm spiced wine, then stretched out in the chair Morgana had offered him, savouring both the taste of the beverage as much as the sheer brilliance of the scheme being laid bare before him.

"This is certainly something indeed," he agreed, reaching out for the copy of ''Mysticale Thoughtes'', and skimming his eyes across the fateful words inscribed there, marvelling at Morgana's audacity to think up such a plan, and the misfortunes that this author had apparently survived. "This Golyn Tatael certainly was a brave man."

"I admire his work," Morgana conceeded, popping a grape into her mouth, and touching the pages of ''Mysticale Thoughtes'' with a reverence one would not have expected from such a cold sorceress. It was a surprising revelation, seeing as the High Priestess tended to be largely unconcerned with the accomplishments of others if they bore no connection to herself.

"As do I. And this is an excellent vice. Fate has favoured us."

"Do you think you could help lure Arthur to this Lake?"

Agravaine knew this to be a leading question meant to gauge the current scope of his capabilities, but he did not pretend to be flattered that she had asked for his opinion. Morgana did not care overly much whether the traitorous Uncle possessed any doubts about her ideas- she knew that she was cunning, and where there was a will, there was most certainly a way. For the purposes of convenience, however, she would prefer, however, that his answer be a straight "yes". Nevertheless, rather than rush to placate his mistress with the desired affirmative response that he might regret later, Agravaine pondered, chewing his lips thoughtfully. "Arthur may not be able to see through my disguise, but elsewhere he is not a fool; he will want to know about this place too. He might ask Merlin."

"You will have to convince him; something has to be used that will unquestioningly make him travel to this place."

"Yes," Agravaine agreed, swirling his drink around thoughtfully, frowning, his facial expression casting even deeper lines into his forehead. "I hardly think that the lost prisoners would entice him so much," he mused, taking another draught, "and he will be suspicious if we send him to fetch a precious object; he will want to know whether it is forged with magic..."

"The fool," Morgana interjected, smirking.

They sat in silence, thinking for a moment, before a flash of clarity exploded in Morgana's mind:

"Oh, and don't forget, Merlin and Guinevere must go with-"

"By the gods, I have it! The girl, Gwen! She will be our trap!" Had she mentioned it before, Agravaine might well have well have solved the issue about how to lure Arthur to the Island within minutes of hearing her plan, but he had it now. A dark smile was eclipsed in the soft candlelight, which Morgana found rather distracting. Clearing her throat in a bid to concentrate, she quickly considered what he had suggested.

Would it work?

"That will not be easy, Agravaine," Morgana warned him slowly; "How would he justify rushing to rescue our dear Guinevere? Is his relationship with her common knowledge? I wasn't aware that this was the case..."

"I am inclined to disagree; allow me to make myself heard. No announcement has been made, but the people are generally aware that the King has a mistress. Now that he has taken charge, he can no longer hide his affections for her any longer. He doesn't want to. Nowadays, she is frequently seen with him in public. Knowing that Arthur would do anything for this lowly serving girl, why do we not kidnap her, and lead Arthur- and Merlin- on a trail that ends up on the Lake, at which point, you may kill him?"

Morgana's eyes were ablaze with delight. She had never held much fondness for revealing emotional expressions, but she could not quite fight the radiant smile on her face as they made headway in plotting. Agravaine... he might be frustratingly slow in carrying out her orders, not to mention the odyssey of excuses he produced when he failed, but he did show the odd flash of intelligence that surprised her. Once again, she reminded herself grudgingly, that he was exceedingly useful to her aims, not to mention placed in a uniquely advantageous position- next to the King himself. Had she been even keener to be honest with herself, she might have also conceded to growing accustomed to their clandestine partnership.

"That is unusually perceptive of you, Agravaine," she commented drily, not wanting to seem overly enthralled with his idea. "Suppose you arranged for Gwen to be taken, and I fabricated a note in my hand, telling Arthur that she is being ferried to a designated place. Clues will be everywhere, but frustratingly brief. The trail will be set. Of course, he will not hesitate to leave Camelot there and then, and that troublesome Merlin will be scurrying right at his heels!"

"How will she get to the Lake?" Agravaine mused, highly pleased with Morgana's subliminal commendation of his own cunning. "By foot? That could leave us open top a confrontation that Arthur might win. Going by water sounds safer. If only there were a cog we could use..."

"Fear not, for Tatael speaks more about this- here, read..."

"There lies in Albione, a cog of the greatest magnitude ever built, forged by magicke, of mastes of the highest heights, manie oares, many sailes, many cabines and corridors inside the bellie of this vessel. This is the Titan that transported me to this Lake manie a time. Curiouslie, manie know of this cog, named the Conquest, for it lies in the lands of Grignael, south of Camulod, where one can finde the long river Abavin that secretly leads towards Lake Moone. By this river, I did avoid the hostile terraine of a land crossing." Agravaine nodded emphatically as he left off from reading. "Yes, we can find this vessel, and hide Gwen there!"

"Furthermore, we will need to employ some spies to keep hold of her at various stopping points. They may need to deal with Merlin's irrevocable penchant for snooping around once he boards _Conquest_."

Morgana was sorely tempted to lapse into the usual smile that crept onto her face at the mention of Merlin- a smile that she passed off as derisive, scornful, but really had undertones of affection that annoyed Agravaine to no end whenever he caught sight of it. She professed to detest the boy, and yet Arthur's Uncle couldn't help feeling that she liked to say so, that she rather enjoyed "hating" Merlin- according to her definition. So he was bracing himself for another subtle display of unexpected emotion upon hearing his name. Thankfully, today it seemed that Morgana really had no time for the boy; her jaw was set into a hard, firm line that spoke of genuine distaste for Arthur's manservant- and Agravaine was only too happy to concur.

"So, how should we proceed?"

"Leave that to me," Morgana advised brusquely. It wouldn't do to be too hasty at the start- or at all, if this was to work the way she had planned. Preliminary arrangements would have to be made first. "I will travel to Grignael tomorrow, seek out this vessel, and employ some spies. Then, we will plot our next move from there."

"As you wish. Meanwhile, I will check whether Camelot has records of a Lake Moon- perhaps I can enter into random discourse with the King about this place."

"As long as you do not give the game away, then yes," Morgana agreed, with a grin that might have been described as enthusiastic had she not remained perfectly composed in her seat. On an impulse, she leaned across the table and fixed her Chief Spy with a bewitchingly seductive gaze. He obliged her by kissing her lips until she pulled away far too quickly for his liking.

But they had both enjoyed it, even if she deliberately passed off her pleasure as purely biological. "We will meet again, Agravaine. Very soon, Camelot will be ours."

Agravaine exited Morgana's hovel to the sound of a chilling cackle of laughter.

He joined in wholeheartedly.

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**NEXT TIME:** Morgana travels to Grignael to lay the foundations of her plot...

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I have added more Morgravaine and Mergana from the start, so that it makes sense for the later chapters I have planned. So far so good.


	3. Chapter 3- Developments From Grignael

Alright, here is Chapter Three. If you do not recognise any location here, that is because it is fictional. A no-brainer, really... :D

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**CHAPTER 3- Developments from Grignael**

Morgana's mare whinnied and came to a pronounced halt at the precarious edge of a steep bank which overlooked a picturesque, deep bowl-shaped valley, seemingly carved to perfection inside the crumbly, fertile Earth below her. The High Priestess smiled, temporarily moved by the sight of such pristine natural beauty in Albion, for truth be told, she did have a soft spot for abundant wildlife, enticed by the faint signs of the Old Religion that still lingered defiantly in aged oak trees and woodland paths. Such were present here in the discreet town of Grignael. She had not heard of this place, for it was not marked on many of the old maps she had studied back at home, but the author of "Mysticale Thoughtes" had taken great care to include a detailed route here from all five kingdoms, Camelot included. Excited, Morgana had risen especially early and lost no time in preparing her horse for the journey, which had only taken the best part of half an hour. Delighted with the close proximity of the town, she resolved to make many more trips here in the future whilst she laid the foundations of the path to Arthur's untimely death.

As foretold, the quaint town of Grignael had flourished alongside the strong blue line in the distance, which could only mean one thing; water. Namely, the afore-mentioned River Abavin which ran through the majority of Albion, and had many other towns and cities located on its banks for it was the main trading thoroughfare of the five kingdoms themselves. Only the likes of Golyn Tatael knew that somewhere along this clear cerulean river was a pathway to the illicit Lake Moon, and armed with the author's astonishingly detailed ink maps (which she had lost little time in duplicating), she would find it.

Luck was on her side in yet a further dimension, too. She had not forgotten that very few had returned from Lake Moon alive. This was a worrying fact that had severely constrained the scope of the final objective. Of course, she wanted to be the one to commit the deed, and it must be here, where he had an infinitesmal chance of survival. But how to escape the Lake herself? Tatael had an answer for that as well. In one of the largely vacuous pockets of her cloak lay three small vials, full of an Essence that had been surprisingly easy to make. The author promised that simply carrying three of these vials around about one's person would prevent that soul from being attacked by the horrific monstrosities that lurked under the misty surface of the water.

The pervasive frigid climate of Lake Moon was another matter, as was the treacherous sheets of ice and jagged dotted across its tranquil surface. Yet if she could keep from being consumed by the lurking beasts, then her own magic could take care of the rest.

Of course, Arthur would be armed with no such protection, she thought gleefully- neither would his friends. For was not sorcery banned in Camelot? How the King would come to regret his own decrees when he realized that magic was to be the only way to save his useless life! Morgana chuckled under her breath, almost drunk on the intoxicating prospect of her own intellect where coldhearted murder was concerned. Soon, she stopped herself- there was much work to be done yet before she could rejoice for real.

First of all, she had to find the giant cog, _Conquest. _

She drew back from the edge, urging her horse down a steep, rocky path that led, in the most complicated manner possible, to a rusty and poorly-guarded lower town gate- a more prudent choice of entrance than one where someone may recognise the face of the Lady Morgana, even under the hood she wore for her own protection, since it was not merely Camelot that feared her name.

The creamy white horse trotted down the path carefully, stepping over broken rocks, brushing past wildflowers, ducking underneath low-hanging branches. Morgana noted these details with satisfaction; this would provide excellent cover when transporting a comatose Gwen to Grignael; she made a mental note to instruct her appointed spies to familiarise themselves with this clandestine route.

A few minutes, later, she reached the gate; far from being a little creaky, it was absolutely caked in rust, and there was in fact noone on duty in front of it.

Morgana dismounted, and rushed to the ancient bars. She had a clear view through an archway that was surrounded by weeds and liberal doses of rotten vegetables. Rats darted to and fro with abandon, burrowing into the mouldy food, parts of the archway dripped now and again with fetid, greenish mucky water. The smell was equally distasteful. Morgana screwed up her nose, but her mind was still decided; if she had to make use of a grotty passageway to ensure Arthur's doom, then so be it. A quick incantation caused the gate to creak open slowly with minimal sound despite its age, and Morgana summoned her horse forward.

They had arrived.

A few minutes later, Morgana tethered her horse to a lonesome tree in a nearby field. It would be more convenient to continue the rest of her journey on foot, keeping well to one side of the road, not making eye contact with any of the passersby. In this way, she remained largely inconscpicuous. It didn't take long to reach the centre of the town, a bustling, vibrant affair with people moving anywhere and everywhere (perhaps simply for the purposes of doing so), selling, looking, talking, doing anything under the sun. Morgana approved, for it was in such environments that her machinations worked best. None of these self-consumed folk would be likely to notice anything untoward in their hectic, cluttered lives, she observed appreciatively as she cast a cursory eye around the market stalls she passed. All the better for her.

Finally, the High Priestess realized that the only problem with the clearly bursting population was that it was almost impossible to find her way, and find her way she must, for it was the docks of Grignael that should prove so vital to her plan. Morgana paused at a stall selling meat pies and hesitated; her reputation had already preceded her, but surely this remote town could not have heard of Morgana Pendragon? She really needed some help, but was reluctant to relinquish the weapon of anonymity. Well, if any awkward questions were asked, she could always kill any witnesses... She pursed her lips when she had decided how to act.

"Excuse me?" she asked a pasty, red-faced lady, who was counting out silver pieces with painstaking application, recording their presence meticulously into a gnarled ledger. "Please could you direct me to the docks? I have a brother who is a merchant and is to leave from here for the north." She did not pause to appreciate the wicked irony in her false words.

The woman glanced at her nonchalantly. "You are very close, miss. Keep following this path straight. These are busy days; the Conquest should be getting ready to sail soon."

"Really?" Morgana replied, hiding a smile. "Where is she bound?"

"The northern lands, I should expect. But she will have to take the River Abavin, and you know what that means...?"

"Indeed, I do not," Morgana lied easily. Today was certainly a most fortunate one.

The woman's eyes widened, and she almost dropped her silver pieces. "You have not heard...of Lake Moon?" she exclaimed, her voice dropping to a whisper when naming the lake. She carefully moved her coins to another part of the table, and beckoned Morgana closer. "Very few know that it is the most cursed place in Albion!"

Morgana theatrically raised an eyebrow. "Surely such stories must merely be old wives tales?"

"No, no, miss! I have heard... from three survivors... one was named Golyn Tatael... he was a- a _sorcerer, _and he spoke of terrible things, terrible..." She cut herself off, shaking her head vigourously, before returning to her previous occupation, even more unnerved at recalling how she had met a warlock. "Beware, miss."

"Your words are certainly infomative," Morgana replied in a different tone of voice far removed from the innocent lady of just seconds before, one with a slight hint of menace, a bad omen contained in its words. Perhaps the stall-owner may have noticed this, for she frowned lightly at Morgana, meaning to say something, before nodding hastily and scrawling something in her ledger. When she looked up, Morgana had disappeared.

Indeed, the High Priestess was striding along with more purpose now that she was fully certain of where she ought to be headed, and she let nothing distract her; not even the town-crier, not even the angry clucks of a brood of hens her boots had disturbed, not even a gruesome public execution that was going on nearby. In due course, her objective was reached; the docks of Grignael suddenly appeared before her eyes, and she paused, leaning on a withered signpost to take in the sight.

Clean, freshly cut planks, piles of fish, sailing boys with nutmeg-coloured skin rushing up and down the pier, the smell of life, the peacefully flowing, healthy blue river, the taverns nearby, the crates stacked haphazardly across the landings. And a shadow to her left... Morgana turned her eyes and caught sight of The _Conquest_.

A veritable Titan, as Golyn Tatel had foretold; such perfection in its elegant mould, such style and grace as she lay peacefully inside the river, adorned with towering masts and proud, gently curving sails. Her oars were lean and graceful, merely skimming the water. She even had windows, scores of them- with glass, and her many decks looked as though they would provide a great view over the town.

"She's magnificent, isn't she, miss?"

Morgana turned and gasped: who should she meet but Alawain, a fellow sorcerer from Odin's kingdom, who had assisted her in a previous scheme against Arthur! He stood, as ever in his shifty, discomfiting pose, cloak almost concealing his slit of a mouth, his boots highly polished as ever, his mahogany curls just peeking out temptingly from the depths of his outer garment. The High Priestess swallowed and smiled cunningly.

"Alawain," she greeted him in a soundless voice.

"I take it you are not here merely to admire Conquest, my Lady." He had smooth, honeyed vocals that melted all over the skin of whomsoever that he spoke to.

"You read me like a book, my good man...almost. I did come to see Conquest- but I also have need of spies, and who should Fortune bestow upon me, but your highly able self?"

"You flatter me, my Lady. In what way can I assist you?"

"Have you another accomplice, Alawain?" Morgana interjected, ignoring his question for now; never doing anything by halves she enjoyed building up suspense, for there was yet vanity in her heart.

"Indeed, Fortune is good to you today; for my comrade Egwyth sits in the tavern yonder, concocting his potions where none can see. I am sure that he will be prepared to accept your commands."

"Potions?" Morgana queried, her head cocking to the side, her eyes glinting wickedly. "I may have need of such vices. We will see Egwyth later. Can anyone take a tour of the cog?"

"Yes," Alawain replied readily, leading her by the arm to the open hatch and ladder inside the great vessel. "It is seven gold pieces to enter; I can provide the fare-" he pulled out an exquisitely sewn purse, and Morgana nearly smiled.

"For all your wicked deeds, Alawain, you live better than I do."

Alawain grinned slyly. "I keep company with those who can grant me favours."

The sorcerer paid and he allowed Morgana to climb the rope ladder leading the the uppermost deck, watching with amusement as she strove not to display her surprise at the view and the height, how she pretended that she was not impressed by the splendour of Conquest. He chuckled, scrambling up the ladder with agility, and joining her on deck.

"For all her grandeur, _Conquest_ is known to few outside Grignael, but she is as fair as they say," Alawain was teling her, gesturing to the washed boards, the billowing sails, scores of firm rails. "And, like any woman, she is even more delightful underneath," he added, leading Morgana to a tall door set securely in the base of one of the highest decks, and allowing her to enter inside first. It was surprisingly cool and airy inside, as they climbed down the steps, admiring the carvings in the wooden interior. They reached a long gangway, clean and being maintained by some spindly young sailors, skin burnt by the sun to a crisp shade of sienna.

Each side of the gangway was beset with wooden doors- cabins for traders and crew alike. At the end of the first gangway was another staircase leading to a corridor that was astonishingly provided for with large windows on the right hand side, and more accomodation on the left. The ceiling was even fashioned with arch-shapped beams, and the pervading aroma was not of wood, but of flowers and herbs. Silent torches lay trapped in iron C-shaped rings attached to the walls, ready to be lit when needed.

It was not until a whole hour had elapsed that Morgana's curiosity had been fully satisfied, and they were back on the docks, discussing developments animatedly.

"It is truly a splendid cog," Morgana admitted, looking out at the water with a nonchalant air. "I have an agent in Camelot who is assisting me with this plan. He and I will make more regular excursions here so that we become familiar with its layout. What say we meet here again next week; I will bring my spy and you bring Egwyth?."

Alawain bowed slowly. "Of course, my lady."

"I have a good feeling about this plan," Morgana murmured, eyes roving over the vessel again, and she smiled in her unsettling way. "A very good feeling."

A few paces away, a young woman named Isabelle, the daughter of a Councillor of Camelot stared hard at the cloaked woman standing close by, feeling a distinct chill creep down her spine at what she had just heard. Rooted to the spot, she could do little without attracting the attention of a woman that seemed horribly familiar to her, though she could not place the name. After a few tortured seconds, the cloaked figure turned and melted into the crowds that milled around on the docks, probably headed for the town centre. Isabelle fiddled nervously with her fingers, casting a glance at Conquest. Maybe it was impossible to fully discern the causes of her strong sense of trepidation, yet she could not ignore the sinister snatches of conversation that she had happened to hear.

Something was going on, and she didn't like it one bit.

And back in the heart of the town, the red-faced lady picked up a vial from underneath her table and drank deeply from it. Nobody passing by saw that she had transformed into a lean, silver-haired man, or that the ledger he had been writing in soon melded into a copy of a book called "Mysticale Thoughtes". It remained unseen that from under that same table, he pulled out a scrying bowl and upon whispering some strange words and peering inside with an irrevocably intense air, he drew away suddenly, a terrified expression etched into the lines that marked his face.

He was very afraid.

* * *

**NEXT TIME:** Merlin unwittingly stumbles onto a sinister trail left by Agravaine... 

* * *

Alright, so the last two paragraphs are key for events much later on. This is another hole I had to clear up pretty quickly to avoid problems. I have started doing a "Next Time" feature too, as a preview. Does this help/work? Let me know if you have anything to say!


	4. Chapter 4- Unsettling Hints

_**Notes:** Just in case the reader is confused- this is a list of all the fictional material added: _

**Lake Moon-** mysterious, deadly lake in a secret location in Albion.  
**River Abavin-** flows from Grignael to the northern lands, leading off to Lake Moon along the way.  
**Grignael- **Waterfront town south of Camelot, has a dock which faces the River Abavin.  
**Golyn Tatael-** Sorcerer, author of _"Mysticale Thoughtes"_  
**Alawain-** Sorcerer, previous accomplice of Morgana  
**Egwyth-** friend of Alawain

* * *

**CHAPTER 4- Unsettling Hints**

Lord Agravaine Du Bois had returned from a hunting trip.

Or so he had told King Arthur Pendragon, who immediately swallowed the story whole, hook, line and sinker as though his life depended on it. In any case, the young King had been up to his neck in mounds of legal deeds that required his immediate attention and signature, so what Agravaine did in his spare time had been furthest from his mind. Whilst he was marooned at his desk, eyes aching from hours of reading elegantly curling legal script, Lord Agravaine Du Bois returned on horseback to Camelot, his inky black cloak billowing out behind him, a malicious grin plastered on his smug features. This was the smirk of a man who had wickedness in his heart. Fortunately for him, few were aware that Agravaine's interests did not concur with those of the kingdom in which he resided; revenge for the death of Ygraine and an insatiable lust for power was not a phrase that any paserby would have tied like a cord about his body- yet he was inextricably linked to them. Only time would tell, when Morgana came to power, the true intents of Arthur's closest adviser.

As the indomitable High Priestess had planned, Agravaine had travelled to Grignael to asssess the progression of the devious plan. He had become acquainted with the designated "Hunter of Persons" Alawain and Egwyth, satsified in Morgana's commendation of their capabilities to trust them with kidnapping Guinevere. Truth be told, he didn't much like either of them- Alawain he found too smooth and irritating with all his pretentious antiquated diction, not to mention that he seemed to have a thing for Morgana. Egwyth was, in his view, too shady and quiet, which unsettled the Uncle. Nevertheless, nobody had asked for his opinion on them, and even if they had, he wouldn't have divulged his true feelings. Neither of the three were plotting in Grignael over how to make friends, so he decided to just lump it and make polite coversation in the few moments where the men had been left alone.

Other practical arrangements had been made; Alawain had secured a lodge near to the entrance gate that Morgana had exploited for discreet entrance into Grignael, and Egwyth had rented out another room in a lodge that sat right on the doorstep of the River Abavin, so that Guinevere could be boarded onto the ship easily without having to take the risk of being caught beforehand in walking through winding streets. It was a complicated affair, and everything had to be measured precisely as a Physician might carefully prepare his ingredients before mixing a potion, and if this concoction was to be the deadly vice Morgana hoped, nothing could be left to chance.

Agravaine had been put in charge of Conquest, which had been of more interest to him, anyway. On the day that she set sail, there would be many crew and sailors aboard, an unwitting shroud of cover for their own scheme, but since the Lake was not on the intended route, certain persons who wielded enough power on the ship would have to be gently persuaded, by virture of a bulging purse of coins or a calculated glint of a dagger, to deliberately take an aberration from the original route. No mention had been made of how dangerous this errant turn was to be, of course. To Agravaine's surprise, he had not had to resort to death threats in order to effect this change. The owners of the grand cog were, for all the celebration that their finest creation produced, decidedly corrupt. In fact, an odyssey of bad investments over the past moon cycles had left them almost always strapped for cash. Therefore when the Uncle asked for a discreet meeting with a senior sailing hand and showed him a pile of gold coins and a detailed map, the emphatic yes had come immediately afterwards.

So now, they were set. They had the rooms, the vessel, willing accomplices and the promise of a new age at the end of it. All that was needed was the first link in the chain; the Lady Guinevere, sister of Sir Elyan. It was for this reason that Agravaine had returned to Camelot earlier than Morgana, for he had yet more sinister work to do; the first foundations of the deadly web had to be spun. Agravaine smiled cunningly as he urged his steed faster through the forests that encircled Camelot's Castle, the perfect natural barrier to her enemies. And yet here he was, harmlessly riding back into the heart of Arthur's kingdom, and noone would question him. Indeed, when he finally reached one of the lower City Gates, a smattering of well-discplined guards bowed low to the ground in the customary show of respect to one whose royal status was second only to the King himself, before rushing to facilitate his entrance. Agravaine brushed them away discourteously, dismounted hastily, and almost grabbed his saddlebags as he made his way as quietly as possible to the Castle, sticking to a winding cart track rather than the main path that connected itself with the splendid courtyard. As he turned a corner, he almost ran into a raven-haired young man with a purple neckerchief, who held a small basket of herbs in one hand.

"Oh- I am sorry!" Merlin exclaimed, astonished to see Agravaine using such an overgrown and disused path.

"Indeed, boy," Agravaine grumbled, yanking his load out of the serving boy's path with vigour and speed, and rushing past without another word. Merlin frowned, suddenly feeling unsettled; he couldn't explain why, but there was something that was rather... off about Arthur's Uncle. He liked to think that at least a few of the Knights, who spent more time with him in official meetings, had noticed it too. The precocious serving boy might easily had chided himself on how sensitive he was to his premonitions, and ignored that lingering malaise, but this sixth sense had never failed him in the past, and had kept Camelot's King alive for all these years. He wasn't about to let go of a nagging feeling just now, even if he could not articulate his uneasiness clearly.

Merlin brushed at his coat absent-mindedly, eyes examining the path around him as a matter of rote. As his eyes roved over the fertile, damp earth and weeds with snake-like stems, he espied a small scroll lying on the ground that he could have sworn had not been there beforehand. Anyone else might have completely missed such a small observation, but being Merlin, he simply had to go and investigate, so he hopped over to the other side of the track and picked the piece of parchment up carefully, eyes scanning over the spidery scrawl contained within the curled fold.

"350 gold coins- Thomas- Conquest."

After rereading the mysteriously brief missive a couple of times, Merlin gave up trying to figure it out and shoved it into his pocket for reasons his conscious mind could not explain. He got the distinct feeling that this scroll had not been lying on the ground before he had bumped into Agravaine. Perhaps he should catch up with Arthur's Uncle and return the paper to him...? Yet that lurking premonition told him not to. Why shouldn't he? Oh, if only evereything were simple, he berated himself, trudging back to Gaius' chambers. _I have a note in my pocket that means nothing to me, and I insist on keeping it. How much more irrational does oen have to be?_ He almost smiled at himself as he wound through crowded streets in his singature clumsy fashion, almost bumping into an arm here, a leg there a jug there, leaving behind him a trail of crude abuse and swear words from irate citizens who were only too well-acquainted with the man known as Arthur's idiotic manservant.

An hour later, Merlin had just about had enough of herbs and everything to do with them. Impatient for something better to do, he decided to check up on Arthur, which would have been deemed unusual seeing as he spent a noteworthy amount of his time complaining about the many tasks and chores that the King foisted upon his feeble shoulders. Today, however, even Arthur's incessant demands were a more attractive alternative to the smell of mint leaves and intricacies of the human anatomy that he would probably never remember, even if he tried. So he meandered through the maze of corridors until he stumbled into the most familiar one of all, leading to the King's chambers and tripped inside without so much as a tentative knock or a respectful bow.

To his annoyance, Agravaine was already inside, lounging in chair at the King's spotless dining table (courtesy of fellow servant Geroge, rather than spirited application from Merlin). He was taking a long, measured draught of some drink (probably wine) from a gleaming silver chalice, watching Arthur filling pages of parchment with his neat script.

Arthur glanced up, unsurprised at Merlin's casual arrival, too tired to snap at him for failing to knock (once again). Deep down, he despaired of ever moulding Merlin into the shape required for a personal servant- worse still, he preferred not to. Agravaine, on the other hand, was highly displeased.

"What gives you the right to burst into His Majesty's chambers in this uncouth fashion?" he shouted, making Merlin jump. "Have you no manners, no sense of occasion?"

"I-I am sorry," the other man stuttered.

"Impertinence," Agravaine hissed before launching into a diatribe against general rudeness and dismissive attitudes towards Arthur- until the latter, having caught sight of Merlin's expression, intervened, asking his Uncle to stop shouting. "You cannot allow this, my Lord- you are the King and must remain decisive and authoritarian on all counts, you-"

Another knock sounded on the door.

"Enter," the King commanded, glad of an excuse to avoid another awkward lecture from his Uncle- in front of Merlin as well. A dreamy smile lit up his face when a curly-haired, well-dressed serving girl stepped inside shyly, holding a plate of fruit, wide, soft eyes cast down to the ground.

This was Guinevere.

Agravaine shot a calculating glance at the girl as she curtseyed and placed the King's food on his dining table as instructed whilst his distracted eyes followed her every movement, and she grew ever more bashful because of it. Here was the King's heart in this bright, witty, intelligent young woman with her charming smiles, honeyed voice and general good-naturedness. As he had informed Morgana, the deep feelings the couple enetertained were gradually becoming more open and obvious to the point that Guinevere now received stares from fellow maids and servants as well as tentative questions about the nature of her relationship with Arthur. Agravaine knew all of this, for he made it his business to be aware of all Court gossip, should it prove useful for Morgana's purposes. Even if he hadn't known that, one cursory glance at Arthur's adoring expression would have revealed everything in an instant. He loved her; he couldn't hide it any longer. He loved her more than his whole Kingdom. She was more important to him than his Crown, his lands, his riches, his entitlements. Never had Agravaine seen somebody so consumed by love that they would lay waste to everything they should hold dear for another's benefit. The traitorous Uncle considered Arthur a fool for allowing his emotions to govern him, and had tried on many occasions (with little success) to persuade the King to cast aside the serving girl.

Little did Arthur know that he would not be seeing his beloved for some time... and eventually, never. Agravaine snickered quietly as he watched Guinevere flash Arthur a nervous smile and afterwards, he rose, clearly meaning to leave. It did not escape his notice that the King looked relieved at his departure- no doubt he would wish to spend as much time with his lady love as possible, before he was consumed by his duties again.

In any case, he had something else that needed doing.

Something that required Guinevere to be away from her home for at least an hour.

* * *

**NEXT TIME:**What is wrong with Guinevere?

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Did you enjoy? If you have anything to say, good or bad, please tell me.


	5. Chapter 5- Kidnap!

**Chapter 5- Kidnap!**

King Arthur Pendragon was a busy man, no doubt. He had woefully underestimated the amount of paperwork that came with being a monarch; the legal title deeds, book-keeping and regulations, the copious minutes of meetings, speeches and decrees. It was enough to submerge a man and bury him whole had not the King been a man of steel. Suffice to say that Arthur did not have much time these days for leisure; the kingdom was his lifeblood, with the masses solely reliant on him for every decision and resolution. It was a humbling task and one that had often kept him awake at night, fretting over whether he had yet to acquire the aptitude to become the ruler that legend had foretold.

Nevertheless, not even his daunting workload had stopped Arthur at a random hour the next day from momentarily toying with the idea that Guinevere seemed a little off-colour. It was nothing definite, but the thought flitted through his preoccupied mind after catching sight of her in the courtyard. The King was rarely able to spend much time with his mistress, which left him spending most of the day longing for her company whilst he drifted mindleslly through his work. Today, Fortune had answered his pleas; he had decided to go outside for some fresh air, and saw her standing there.

At a first glance, she looked beautiful with her flowing tangled locks, and her lily-white linen dress overlaid in black, all serene and quiet as she appeared to be watching a man unload a cart filled with fresh fruit for the Castle kitchens. He stared at her for a while, enraptured by her understated, simple beauty. Upon coming closer, he realized something interesting.

Namely, she seemed _very_ exhausted. Uncharacteristically so. He would not normally be surprised about that, knowing fell well (with noticeable guilt) how hard she worked. Could her fatigure really become as heavy as this? He had often seen her yawning on the job, but today her eyes were unfocused. The King blinked as he fought to confirm that contrary to his previous assumption, she was not actually _watching_ the cart, as in consciously noting what was going on in front of her, for at that moment a serving boy slipped, spilling apples everywhere very close to where she stood, and she did not flinch one bit.

Strange. Or was it?

Agravaine, who was idling on the steps just a few paces to the right of Guinevere did not find it unusual, knowing full well why Guinevere was so drowsy that day. He was most conveniently concealed by the shadow thrown onto the pristine white flagstones by the merchant's cart. Unseen by those passing by, he nodded slightly to the man unloading fruit, an eyebrow raised significantly. The man to whom the gesture was aimed wore an indigo cloak, pulled back today, revealing large curls of mahogany coloured hair; he nodded back and glanced at the serving girl with a small, yet predatory grin.

This was Alawain.

Completely oblivious to the sinister exchange, Arthur made his way up the stairs towards her and touched her arm gently. She turned to him abruptly and flashed him an unexpectedly bright smile. The King felt his heart squeeze until it was almost painful, and his mouth went dry as he took in the mesmerizing sight. The time-worn thought crossed his mind again: _"How can someone as wonderful as her...love **me**?" _It was a question too complex for Arthur to even consider in any kind of academic manner, so contented himself by smiling back with equal enthusiasm.

And somehow... his previous surmises dissipated. She could smile, he thought- perhaps she was simply a little tired after all. _Poor girl._ He might be used to gazing at her in unbridled adoration, but that did not mean that he knew everything about her, he reminded himself. Maybe he was simply being overprotective. She must be fine- or it would be more obvious, wouldn't it? He would have had more to go on instead of slight uneasiness about her pallor.

"Arthur," she greeted him happily. "What brings you here?"

He subconsciously noted with some alarm that her tone was heavy and her diction slow and stilted. _Was_ she alright? "I am fleeing my legal documents," he replied carelessly and she laughed.

_Yes, she must definitely be fine. _Yet he still wore a curious expression on his face.

"And I saw _you_," he continued, "which means I would rather be _here_."

Merlin, who was just coming into the Courtyard to find the King, snorted at the exchange and averted his eyes when his master leaned into his friend and kissed her lips with a gentle passion that she seemed to enjoy because her head was firmly lowered when he had finished. Guinevere was still cripplingly bashful when it came to public displays of affection, Merlin remembered with a fond smile; especially when they involved the King of all Camelot. It also escaped Arthur's notice that his actions had drawn an audience of subjects who were at great pains to hide the fact that they were watching. When all the romantic nonsense had finished, Merlin deemed the territory safe enough to encroach on the couple's conversation.

"You again." Arthur regarded him suspiciously- not that that was unusual.

"Sire," he announced with in an insultingly polite tone. "How _good_ to see you!"

"Cut out the lies, _Mer_lin," the King snapped, trying to look annoyed. He pressed his lips together in what he hoped was a decisive fashion- there was no _way_ he found his manservant funny. "What brings you here?"

"Well, there's the good news and the bad news; good news is that I have finished polishing your armour. The bad news is that you have a meeting on the monthly budget in... ah... a minutes time."

The King swore under his breath. "Why didn't you tell me this before?"

Merlin looked affronted; his eyes expanded into a piteous stare that had often won him sympathy, wriggling him out of the many tight spots of trouble he so often slipped into. His mouth dropped open. "An hour ago, a certain man told me to polish his armour!" he exclaimed in that well-rehearsed hurt voice before he flashed an impudent grin at the King. "Come to think of it, he looked a lot like you- unfortunately for him!"

He saw the blow to the head coming even before he finished his sentence. Guinevere laughed as King and manservant started to bicker loudly before she felt that she really must forego her own amusement and intervene before Arthur was late for his meeting. Gently nudging his arm, she reminded him in that same, deliberate tone which spoke of a heavy, unusual lethargy, where he ought to be headed... cue another romantic interlude that was performed against a backdrop of snorts and sarcastic comments from Merlin ("You would think he was going off to Wales for the rest of his bloody life, not a meeting a few corridors away!").

On a whim, Arthur turned abruptly just as he was about to enter the Castle.

"Are you feeling alright, Guinevere?" he asked.

She was caught unawares by the question, having been on the verge of relapsing into another langorous phase, and hesitantly replied in the affirmative. Arthur considered this and nodded briefly before disappearing inside, the door creaking shut behind him.

Agravaine watched all of this very carefully, edging closer to Guinevere little by little. But nobody saw him.

In the meantime, Merlin assumed that since he had not been summoned by Arthur to attend the gathering, his services would not be required for the next hour, so he took the liberty of remaining in the courtyard with Guinevere, soaking up the sun (his skin needed it) and watching life crawl by before him.

"How are you, Gwen?" Merlin asked her kindly, dragging her out from the solace of her thoughts.

"I- uh..." she faltered momentarily, as she shook her head, which had been feeling unusually heavy all day. There was a persistent throbbing behind her eyes, and she couldn't seem to concentrate on anything in particular. Furthermore, she had been feeling distinctly queasy and was puzzled over the presence of a particular sickly sweet smell hanging over her garments. She could not recall ever feeling so drained of energy, even when she had been through a particularly taxing day. Worse, there was what she had found hidden behind-

"Gwen?" Merlin was studying her with those unnervingly shrewd eyes of his, both hands holding her shoulders so that she faced him. Being regarded in this way was very much akin to being cross-examined in a court of law, or being dissected by a physician- the truth would eventually be extricated by those impossbly omniscient eyes, whether Guinevere fought to contain her malaise or not. Merlin was the man to do it. The man who had foiled so many cunning, illicit would-be plots against the King would not be confounded by a young woman trying not to show that she felt very unwell. "Are you alright?"

"I... yes, I am fine."

Now that he came to think of it, the same notion that had crossed Arthur's mind earlier- that Guinevere did not seem herself- entered the realm of possibility in his own thoughts. It had come to his attention as she stuttered her way through highly unconvincing assurances of her immaculate health, that her eyes were dull and out of focus, that she seemed to be in pain, that her right hand was holding her stomach in a manner that didn't seem right, with fingers splayed all over it, clutching it as though to contain its contents. Then he thought he could detect a certain aroma around her that he recognized, but could not name. Nothing escaped Merlin's notice-not how her skin looked paler, or that expression in her eyes that suggested she was unduly worried.

"Of course you are," he replied gently.

Guinevere glanced at him desperately, deliberating over whether to divulge what had been troubling her. Eventually, she conceded to him.

"Merlin, I..." she began cautiously, touching his sleeve. "I don't feel very...well..." The serving girl stared at the now empty fruit cart, puzzled.

"What is wrong?"

"I don't remember him..." Frustratingly, she trailed off again and Merlin did his best to retain his composure and not grow impatient with her. "I found something... It is all very strange..."

"What is strange, Gwen?" he enquired softly, putting a comforting arm about her shoulders. "You can tell me."

She might have opened her mouth to say something more that would enlighten the situation had not Agravaine materialised from nowhere, cutting short their conversation.

"Merlin!" he interrupted, startling the younger man standing in front of him. The serving boy turned around, surprised to see Arthur's Uncle, whom he had automatically expected to be present at Arthur's meeting. "Have you seen the King? I have just come from his chambers, and noone was there. He has a meeting soon!"

Frowning, Merlin informed him that Arthur was already at the budget meeting. Agravaine nodded brusquely.

"Well, we had best both be heading to the Court Room, then," he advised nonchalantly. "I understand Arthur likes to have you there- finds your counsel very useful, so he tells me."

It wasn't a lie. And if something hadn't been twitchinng uncomfortably inside Merlin's stomach, he might have smiled at the compliment (rare gifts from Arthur)... but he didn't. Though he was careful not to frown so as to betray any confused feelings, he merely nodded meekly and followed Agravaine away after squeezing Gwen's arm. When Merlin felt that something wasn't right... he was usually correct. As they walked together in deafening silence towards the Court Room, he tried to uncover what it was about Agravaine's words that he found questionable. _"I have just come from his chambers, and noone was there. He has a meeting soon." _Yes, that was it- but why did that bother him? Of course, the Uncle should look for his nephew, shouldn't he?

Merlin almost stopped short when the dawn of realization hit him. Of course! The meeting had started about ten minutes ago, and yet Agravaine had said that it was _about_ to start! As a member of court, he should have known the exact time full well, so if he had really been searching for the King, he would have been doing so well in advance. And there was another thing; Merlin and Guinevere had been standing very close to one of the oaken Castle doors which made a distinct creaking sound when Arthur went inside... but not when Agravaine had allegedly come outside... so he cannot have just come from Arthur's chambers, even though he had appeared behind him, ostenbily from that same door.

_Lying about looking for Arthur. Why would he do that?_

No answer was forthcoming, yet this time, a definite suspicion began to cloud the warlock's mind- quite different from the lingering unease of before.

* * *

Neither Arthur nor Merlin got to see Guinevere for the rest of the day; the King was busy with more documents; his manservant with more chores.

Guinevere was left alone contemplating as she went about her largely uneventful daily duties. However, from time to time she could have sworn that there was somebody standing not far behind her, but whenever she turned her heavy head, she found no-one there. After a while, she cast her suspicions aside, and threw herself into her work, longing for the sweet embrace of her bed at the end of the day- maybe then she could sleep off this horrible nauseating fatigue. As soon as the purple of dusk splashed across the sky, she glanced up hopefully, and quickly finished washing the last of a kirtle in the scullery.

An hour later, she was ready to go home. A sigh of relief followed this realization as she pulled on her cloak and left the Castle. While she walked down the main corridor, dark, foreboding and saturated with mysterious shadows, she heard systematic footsteps behind her. With a strangled gasp, she whirled round...

No one was there.

Frightened, Guinevere ran the rest of the corridor and didn't stop until she was heaving in buckets of air in the fresh evening air.

Arthur, who had just been about to head back to his own chambers saw a vaguely familiar figure dash down the corridor in a lilac cloak. He paused for a moment. _Guinevere has a cloak exactly like that..._ After a minute had elapsed, he saw another vaguely familiar figure adorned in black from head to toe creep outside in a manner that he would almost have described as stealthy. After another minute, his manservant bumped into him and an argument erupted.

The strange events were instantly forgotten.

And in the meantime, Guinevere would never make it home.

The same cart that had been unloading apples in the courtyard earlier that day had been riding ahead of her as she walked home. Suddenly, without warning, it overturned, merchandise flying everywhere. Had Guinevere not been too exhausted, she would have rushed to help pick everything up. Today, she simply glanced over to her right, finding a winding, cobbled street snaking off to her right. She didn't usually like taking shortcuts, but being so desperate to get home, any vice that would bring her to bed faster was welcome.

She noticed after a minute that the noise from the upturned cart had stopped abruptly. _That was quick,_ she thought. _I thought the man had spilt everything._

A couple of minutes later, she detected that strong, cloying aroma in the air again. She stopped abruptly, wondering where it was coming from... was it there? Or there? Soon she was flinging her head in all kinds of wild directions, utterly bewildered... and her eyes started to droop as the concentration of this mysterious odour increased dramatically as she inched forward.

Just before she slipped into unconsciousness, she realized, too late, that the smell was opium, and that she had somehow been drugged.

By next morning, she had disappeared.

* * *

**NEXT TIME:** What was troubling Guinevere? And what has happened to her?

* * *

Alright, there is the kidnap scene. Much is to be revealed yet. However, the reader really needs to have an aptitude for deduction, because I leave clues lying about everywhere. For example, what is that sickly sweet smell and what relevance does it have?


	6. Chapter 6- The Trail Begins!

**Chapter 6- The Trail Begins!**

Inside a modest, tidy home was a table with a jug of milk resting in the middle. Next to the milk jug was a tin mug with remnants of a sticky brown substance encrusted at the bottom. On the other side of that same jug was a crinkled scrap of parchment with handwriting that the owner of the house recognized. On the floor was a puddle of liquid. It was an innocent, yet puzzling scene.

Merlin was very worried.

Gwen had looked terrible yesterday, and though he had gotten lost in a mound of strenuous chores for the duration of the afternoon, her lethargic face had weighed heavily upon his mind. He reminded himself that he was only making this short trip to ease his worries; surely, when he arrived at Gwen's house early this morning, she would be feeling much more like herself. Even as he endeavoured to comfort himself with these assertions, her rather unsettling words replayed themselves in his mind as he rushed through the main street of the eerily silent Lower Town to her house: _"It is all very strange"._ What did that mean? Up till now, he did not know.

Soon enough, he reached her door and knocked softly. No one replied. She must be asleep, he reasoned, and covertly used his magic to undo the latch.

All was dark and silent when he stepped into the main space that served both as a living room, workspace and kitchen. Merlin fumbled around on a ledge to his right until he had found a match and candle. No use disturbing Gwen. Funny how he couldn't hear her breathing, though… The warlock decided that he would simply check on her quietly and leave; they could catch up later on if he had a spare minute. In due course, he found a spare flint, and lit the candle. Its meagre, butter-yellow light filtered through the gloom and chasing away long and heavy shadows.

At that point, his heart leapt into his throat.

Gwen was not in her bed.

Worse than that, the sheets had not been slept in. He could tell; they were arranged very neatly- there was no a sign of disturbance. He was pretty sure that the last time she had actually lain down in bed was two nights ago. If that was so, then where was she? It was far too early for even a servant to be awake! _Had_ she come home last night? Maybe she had woken especially early…? Merlin shook his head, his features dominated by an anxious expression as he inched forward carefully to her bed to confirm that she had not been there. No- not a crinkle. With a panicked sigh, he turned back to the rest of the house, natural instinct instructing him to look for clues. He tried to insist that he was not investigating anything, but there was no hint of conviction in his fleeting murmur; every sense in his body told him that something was gravely wrong. Guinevere was a sensible, regular girl. She didn't drink and she only stayed up late at home. There was no plausible reason why she should not be in her house at the crack of dawn.

Merlin's eyes roved over his friend's belongings, searching for something, anything that could illuminate his blind confusion. Somehow, his eye drifted over to the table. Upon this table was a jug of milk. Next to the milk was a crinkled scrap of parchment. Frowning, Merlin edged towards it, his malaise increasing exponentially. With a trembling hand, he picked up the jug and on an impulse, smelled the contents. His heartbeat quadrupled when his nose picked up the unmistakeable strong odour of opium lingering at the surface. Opium… used as a tranquiliser; he had seen Gaius administering doses to his patients, but his mentor had always warned him that he must only use the barest minimum he could get away with to avoid the danger of addiction and or death. Yet from the cloying aroma inside the milk, there was enough of the drug to knock out several men- it was a wonder that Guinevere had even made it through the day…

The warlock was now frightened. His friend had been drugged; she was not sleeping in her bed. How had this happened- she would never ingest such a powerful substance- not of her own volition. Evidently, though, this explained her unusual tiredness of yesterday. Had she gotten lost and collapsed somewhere? Had she been hurt by someone, taken advantage of in her intoxicated state? Merlin didn't want to think about that avenue of possibility, but this narcotic was an inordinately powerful one, which was why physicians valued it highly. Criminals might do too. What had happened to her? It was only after shaking his head that Merlin realized his eyes were wet with tears of resolute anxiety and fear. He wiped at them half-heartedly before his eyes spotted the metal mug. He picked it up, scrutinising it. There was a sticky brown substance stuck to the bottom- it must be the drug, Merlin deduced. This meant that the powder had only been in suspension and after a certain period, had fallen to rest. Merlin knew that whoever had done this was not necessarily a learned physician (else they would have used a smaller amount so that it dissolved properly), but they had timed the contamination well enough to know that when Guinevere drank the milk, she would feel the effects almost instantaneously.

Someone with a wicked mind was at work.

Merlin's fingers trembled as they scraped some of the drug off to taste. Yes, this liquid had been adulterated, for sure. Yet another problem presented itself; surely if the powder had only been in suspension, Guinevere would have known that it tasted strange? He moved the glimmering candle around the table and found his answer; a large moist, sticky stain decorated the floor to his left. She had spat the emulsion out- probably almost immediately. Unfortunately, that hadn't been enough to counteract its effects. From the size of the puddle, she had taken quite a huge gulp- maybe two, so enough of the liquid would have been retained long before she tasted the offending substance.

He shivered violently.

Subsequently, his eyes roved over that same table to find the crinkled scrap of parchment… and his heart froze to a heavy lump of ice. He recognized that handwriting, and even if he hadn't, the name at the bottom did not need to be any more explicit:

_Morgana._

Morgana had taken Guinevere.

* * *

Arthur Pendragon rolled over in bed, sweating and trembling violently.

This might possibly the second time in his life that he had woken up at the crack of dawn- even if it was entirely by accident. He had been held in the clutches of a chilling nightmare where he had to surmount several deadly obstacles in order to reach a lovely, dusky maiden lying bound and gagged in front of a fire. All night long, he had tossed and turned like the dead, determined to save the girl who stared at him pleadingly… Just as he was about to reach her, a figure in a black cloak materialized, laughing manically, and threw a dagger into his stomach. It was then that he had awoken abruptly, hyperventilating, and taken note of the rose-pink sky stretching overhead outside his frosted window.

He didn't often have nightmares, and definitely could not be described as the type to be easily frightened- at least not in the public eye, anyway. Most of his dreams consisted of him embroiled in noble quests to find ancient treasures or to save the good people of Camelot, not something as ominous and treacherous as the disturbingly vivid imagery of minutes before. He sat up and felt his stomach gingerly. It ached. Arthur gasped and looked down at himself; an ugly splash of purple now adorned his smooth, creamy skin, right in the spot where the cloaked figure had killed him in his nightmare.

The King of Camelot was terrified.

Even when he discovered a moment later that the bruise was due to the solid spine of a book he had been reading yesterday evening that he had forgotten to put away, the uncomfortable tingling in the pit of his stomach would not dissipate. That vision had simply been too life-like for him to ignore. He wouldn't be able to get back to sleep now.

Arthur climbed out of bed. Briefly, it occurred to him that he might want to find a pair of breeches to wear as there was a slight draught flitting through the window onto his bed. He decided against it, more interested in doing something active that would erase that frightening memory from his conscious. In a dazed frame of mind, he sat down at his desk and stared sightlessly at the mounds of paper still awaiting the cultured brush strokes of his well-worn quill. Perhaps he might devote a few of the precious waking hours to these damned legal documents. Arthur shook his head, knowing that he would decide against doing so. After a moment, he leaned back in his chair and goggled at the ceiling. Come to think of it, dawn was a calm, tranquil time- he should wake up earlier more often; that would deter Merlin from turning up to work late on a daily basis. Thinking of his manservant made him smile a little, so he was glad that nobody was there to witness it. Briefly, he speculated over what the addle-headed man might be doing at this moment- probably ironing out his beloved neckerchief collection. The King smiled a little more at this.

Sitting up straight again, he glanced at his papers until his eye was caught by a stream of lavender blue linen. His eyes turned soft as he prised it out gently from under his inkpots and paperweights; he fingered the cloth lovingly, admiring its uniquely soft feel against his fingers and inhaling the lingering scent of roses and jasmine that clung to the interwoven threads. Arthur smiled once more as his mind's eye conjured up a dreamy image of his mistress, doe-eyed, deceptively demure save for that tiny, resilient spark of vivaciousness in her expression that always caught him completely unawares. His beautiful Guinevere. He honestly believed he had been born not to become a Great King as was foretold, but solely to _love_ her more than anyone else. Why else where memories of his life before this captivating young lady so hazy and vague? Why else could he simply not imagine life without her? Why else did he live to see her smile? Would she be awake at this time? Suddenly, he longed to see her, as always; not a trifling need, but a consuming desire that exploded inside him, tingling nervously within his blood, aching to be sated.

He would go and visit Guinevere.

* * *

"What has she done to her?"

Merlin sniffed and related the whole mound of evidence that pointed to a brutal kidnapping; the contaminated milk, the note, the empty bed- everything he had found, in short.

Whilst Arthur had been speculating in the warmth of his chambers, Merlin had stepped outside, searching for more clues. If abduction had occurred, then there must be a little fragment of evidence for him to find. Upon entering an alleyway close to her home, he smelt that sickening odour of opium that permeated the morning air, and not long afterwards, he saw a scrap of lilac fabric torn on a rusty metal nail driven into the wall of a house. Guinevere's cloak. He would know it anywhere. Why should she take a shortcut home- she never did! On a second search of the house, it transpired that there were two other notes lying under her table, with equally chilling contents that Merlin could not quite decipher- not in the state he was in, half-crying and in a state of complete shock at this radical development.

He had run back onto the main road only to see Arthur coming. A heavy rock had slammed into the bottom of his stomach; he willed the King not to be heading down this way for the reason he suspected. _Please let him just be taking a stroll._

Such dreaming was futile. Arthur was a notoriously heavy sleeper; it was all Merlin could do at times to simply persuade him to open his eyes. If he had decided to come out of his bed at the crack of dawn, then it must be important… and if he was headed this way, it must mean that he wished to see his mistress… What else could he want? Merlin had swallowed and trembled like a stack of jelly. But there was no use prevaricating; the King would have to find out sooner or later. The utter devastation was inevitable.

"Morgana has her," Merlin whimpered; "I- I…"

The King was absolutely lost for words, indecisive and frozen to the spot in the main street staring in horrified disbelief at his tearful manservant, the wispy scrap of fabric and the empty house. It was amazing how one could be thrown so cruelly from the most sweetest and blissful of memories into a snake-filled pit in so short an amount of time. Just a few paces away, Arthur had never even considered that something might be drastically wrong with his mistress- admittedly, he had been pondering over whether she had slept off that heavy exhaustion of yesterday, but his thoughts had not entered the realm of real fear for her welfare. Now, his mind was completely blank, vibrating with shock, his tongue tied into a thousand knots. This- this could not be real. This… was a dream- it was part of the hellish nightmare he had just woken up from. Come to think of it…. Arthur's mouth dropped open and he clutched his stomach violently as though a deluge of the contents might burst out. Merlin rushed to his master's side, put a steadying arm around him and frantically tried to ascertain whether the King remained conscious.

Arthur staggered away from Merlin's arms after a minute; still worryingly pale, but able to speak.

"The- the dream," he rasped, shaking uncontrollably. "The dream… it was _her_…"

"Arthur, what are you talking about?" Merlin whispered, casting anxious looks all about him. "Who was in your dream?"

The King eventually recovered his breath and a little composure to enlighten his manservant, and sat down on an upturned bucket outside Guinevere's house.

"I had a nightmare where I had to overcome several deadly obstacles in order to reach a maiden lying bound and gagged in front of a fire…" Arthur explained in a hollow, brittle tone. "Just as I was about to reach her, a figure in a black cloak materialized, laughing manically, and threw a dagger into my stomach." He lifted up his linen shirt to reveal a dusky purple bruise. Merlin gasped.

"You… the dream…" he stuttered, tongue-tied. Up above him, an ominous grey cloud crawled lazily across the sky, obscuring the morning light for a moment. It didn't take too much of a stretch of the imagination to relate this to the very real quandary both King and manservant had found themselves in. "It was… real…"

Arthur shook his head repeatedly. "No, it wasn't," he lied, completely contradicting his earlier assertion. "No… it can't have been, but…"

"Arthur, don't you see?" Merlin interrupted in a tremulous voice. "Morgana planted that dream in your head! The bound girl- that was Gwen, and the cloaked figure, that was her. The dagger is… you understand? She is warning you not to come after her!"

The King sprang up at that, and his manservant could see the answer coming before Arthur's lips even opened. "No…" he murmured. "No. I will find Guinevere. I will not allow Morgana to hurt her."

"We don't even know where she has been taken," Merlin argued feebly, though he was fully supportive of Arthur's resolve. "Except... she left these notes..."

Arthur grabbed the scraps of parchment loosely trapped between Merlin's unsettled fingers and scanned them through, no more enlightened than his manservant at the mysterious, sinister contents. All were in Morgana's curling script, written in black ink and torn from a larger piece of scroll.

_"She whom is thine, wants that which is mine."_

"What does that mean?" Merlin reiterated.

The King frowned at the cryptic message. "Ah," he realized a minute later. "It means that Guinevere wants something Morgana considers to be her own."

"The throne," Merlin concluded.

"And you say that Guinevere found this?"

"She must have; it was next to the adulterated milk."

"B-But..." Arthur floundered for a moment. "Why didn't she say?"

"She _did_," Merlin mused, the events of yesterday coming back to him in a flash. He could see her, heavily narcotized, holding her stomach and frowning as she tried to recall what it was that she had been trying to tell him. But the words had never left her mouth. And now, they might never know. A frission of fear flitted through his conservative frame at that possibility; Morgana was a heartless and callous woman- any threat to her path to power would be quickly eradicated if she was given the chance. He paused to wipe at his streaming eyes before resuming his trend of thought. "She tried to tell me yesterday," he clarified; "in the courtyard. She said _"I found something... It is all very strange..." _Gwen must have meant this note; it can't have been the other two, as they were covered in dust when I found them underneath the table."

Arthur shook his head, dazed. "What stopped her from telling you?"

"Agravaine appeared and told me to go to that meeting," Merlin replied seamlessly. Then he doubled back on himself as a random idea occurred to him. Dismissing it, his eyes flickered back to Arthur who was reading through the second missive. This one was much more confusing for it had been written very unevenly, with some letters in lowercase and some in uppercase. Perhaps the High Priestess had been trying to disguise her hand? Merlin had discarded this idea when he realized that the handwriting on the note Gwen had found was unmistakeable- so why the confusing script here?

_"NauGhty traItoRous repuGNant girls suffEr greAtLy."_

A more fitting description of Morgana than the warm-hearted Guinevere, Arthur had muttered under his breath, yet he could not understand for the life of him why the script was so jolted- and neither could Merlin. They stood there in a distressed, frustrated silence, trying to piece together what kind of a game the King's wily sister was playing. Finally, Arthur moved onto the third piece of parchment; this one back in Morgana's neat hand and far less cryptic:

_"Seek her not. Remember that which you will dream about."_

The King shivered, his vivid nightmare still lingering in the recesses of his mind. He could decipher this warning almost instantaneously, but that also gave them another clue; Morgana had been planning this kidnap for some time. What other dream could she be referring to? Merlin agreed with his surmise and took back the notes, scanning them desperately for any sign that could lead them to Guinevere. At the back of his mind, he wondered at why the High Priestess would have left such notes in easy reach. Was she trying to taunt them? Did she not know that Arthur was determined to rescue his mistress, whatever the cost? Why did she bother with such psychological, trauma-inducing games when her motives were clear?

No coherent train of thought was forthcoming in Merlin's head- all he could see was an inky blackness, and that was not just from the promise of rain in the steadily increasing number of clouds up above the two distraught men. A devilish hand had been played. Somehow, under the watchful eye of Camelot's guard, Morgana had stolen Guinevere from the safe confines of the Castle. Arthur voiced his next question.

"How did she take Guinevere?"

Merlin was already shaking his head before the question was finished. "I have no idea, I... I really don't know."

Against his better judgement, anguished tears filled Arthur's eyes as he dropped back onto the upturned bucket, playing with one of his mistress' streaming headscarves.

"What am I going to do, Merlin?" he asked in a lost, broken voice. "Guinevere... she is simply everything. If I lose her... I am nothing. What am I going to do? What... _what am I going to do_?"

* * *

"_No_, my Lord! You cannot leave Camelot for a serving girl in Morgana's clutches! It is simply unthinkable!"

Merlin had rarely seen Agravaine so angry, almost towering over a diminished Arthur, fists curled on the table, his booming voice echoing through the rafters of the Court Room where the Knights and Court Physician were assembled with grave faces. He glanced across at Elyan, who was suspiciously close to tears, and at Gwaine whose sombre expression was only reserved for the worst of occasions. The disappearance of Guinevere had torn apart the fabric of safety that Camelot boasted, it had broken the hearts of many, it had cast a dark cloud of gloom over a previously prosperous and contented kingdom. The warlock could see it in Percival's mute expression and most of all in Arthur's blank, desolate and inconsolable stare, eyes fixed on an indefinite point in the aether. It was the disturbing, haunting stare of a man whose heart and soul had been ripped from his body- that, indeed, of a dead man. The humbling knowledge that Guinevere's life was in mortal danger only worsened his excruciating pain.

And Merlin himself- he just missed his sunny, beautiful friend who always had a smile and a kind word for him after a long hard day- who liked to laugh at his stupid jokes, hug him when he felt miserable, and had never held any malice towards anyone, not even towards the traitorous Morgana.

"I am decided, Uncle," Arthur repeated tonelessly. "I must find her." He gestured to the curling scrolls assembled on the table below him. "I will start by searching the forest. At this stage, she cannot be far from here. This map shows a small town called Grignael- it is possible, seeing as to travel anywhere else would take several days- and in open country- that Guinevere may be taken here."

Leon shook his head quickly. "My Lord; we are as stunned and as saddened as you are, but this is _Morgana_ we speak of. By your own admission, she warned you in a dream not to attempt to rescue Guinevere. We cannot lose you too. Allow us to search for her instead!"

"Leon is right!"Agravaine insisted, gesticulating wildly. "Listen to reason, my Lord!"

Arthur's lips settled into the uncompromising line that everyone knew could not be softened.

"No, Leon," he repeated. "You and the rest must stay here and guard Camelot. If Morgana could kidnap...Guinevere-" here, his voice wavered with the threat of tears- "... she might try again. She is determined to undermine me." He paused for a breath. "She does not fear us. More importantly, I am convinced that she had inside help. Nobody reported seeing her anywhere inside the grounds, let alone in the forest. I suspect that she is merely orchestrating events from her house whilst others do her bidding. Therefore you must investigate from home."

"My Lord, I understand-"

"The last thing we need is Morgana killing Camelot's finest men," Gaius interrupted. "You must do as the King says, Leon."

The elder Knight sighed, and bowed his head. "As you wish, sire. We will remain here."

Arthur nodded weakly, but Agravaine seemed livid.

"How can you be so callous, Gaius!" he yelled. "Arthur is my _nephew_! You would send him out alone into Morgana's hands?!"

Gaius raised an eyebrow at him, and then glanced at Merlin who frowned slightly.

"It is the King's decision to find Guinevere," he stated calmly. "Not mine."

"I will not change my mind, Uncle," Arthur interjected before another furious tirade could come pouring off Agravaine's heated tongue. "I cannot remain here in good conscience whilst she lies at Morgana's mercy." He swallowed again, probably to prevent his throat from becoming thick with tears once more. It wouldn't do, to break down in front of the very men who looked to him for guidance. He had to be strong, for them and for Guinevere. He had to cling to hope, even if that light was slowly, but surely dying.

"I was the one who insisted that Guinevere would be my Queen; Morgana is using that as her excuse to attack us. I am decided; I will ride outas soon as everything is prepared."

He rose authoritatively, signalling that the meeting was over. "My word is final, Agravaine."

* * *

"Look, Merlin; none of this has anything to do with you. I will not be offended if you choose to stay here."

Merlin shook his head vigorously. "No; I am coming with you," he stated calmly.

Arthur sighed, fiddling with his sword. "She is powerful, and will kill anyone who gets in her way. I may not come back alive. There is no reason that threat should hang over your life too."

"Better mine than yours, Arthur."

The King regarded him strangely, unnerved by the blistering confidence of this deceptive man.

"Just because I am the King does not negate the worth of anyone else," he muttered when he had found something to say at last. "I am sure you wish to live a long life, too."

"As do you, yet you choose to endanger yourself for Guinevere."

"I would lay down my life for her."

"As would I."

"Merlin, it isn't your job to go around saving the entire kingdom. That is my responsibility. I must bear it alone."

The warlock smiled despite himself at Arthur's assertion. "You can't go through life weighed down by worry, even if you are the King. You need friends. I am your friend. I am here to serve you. I will not leave your side- not even if you make me. You'd have to kill me."

Arthur couldn't quite help the grateful, deeply appreciative look he gave Merlin in light of that statement. It warmed his heart to know that despite the terrible danger they had found themselves in, he always had a friend to fall back on. In truth, he didn't even want to contemplate doing this without Merlin, but did not wish to appear selfish by demanding that his servant attend to him- he was guiltily aware of how much of Merlin's time he used already. But to hear that his servant... his friend was determined to support him... well, that brought a joy that few, not even the man in question, could imagine.

* * *

Agravaine was outside Arthur's chambers, eavesdropping.

He liked the trend of the conversation. He also rather admired his acting skills. He had fooled everyone in that Court Room, demanding that Arthur stay in Camelot. No one would suspect that he, like Morgana, had been playing a psychological trick on the King, knowing full well that he would ignore the pleas and rescue his beloved serving girl. Just as the High Priestess had foretold. He smirked. With Arthur lured out of Camelot, he was, as next of kin, in charge of the citadel until Morgana returned from Lake Moon with the welcome intelligence that Arthur was dead.

He heard Merlin tell the King that he was going to say goodbye to Gaius, and tiptoed away hastily.

As Merlin left Arthur's chambers, he was puzzled to see Agravaine creeping off as if he had been near the door a moment before. He stared at the Uncle's retreating back for a minute, wondering, before making his way back to Gaius' chambers.

By midday, Arthur and Merlin had left Camelot.

Only Agravaine was smiling as they rode out into the distance.

**~oooo~OOOO~oooo~**

* * *

NEXT TIME: Morgana moves into the next phase of her scheme... and Guinevere is horrified when she awakes...

***********************************************************************************  
So I have cut down all 19 chapters of the original book to just nine for Book One. Loads of unneccessary extras have been axed. It is straight action from now on.


	7. Chapter 7- Evil Sits in Grignael

**Chapter 7- Evil Sits in Grignael**

Many hours before Merlin had even contemplated waking up, Guinevere's eyes flickered open alarmingly close to a lively, roaring fire, hands and feet bound together and a linen gag stretched tight over her mouth. Her head was pounding like a gavel making clear vision extremely difficult. Her throat was parched to the point of bleeding and she could feel her enlarged tonsils cleaving to the injured caverns of her windpipe. Her limbs felt agonizingly heavy and inflamed; they would not obey her. There was a deathly silence in the air.

Blind panic seized her as she took in her predicament through languid, lidded eyes. This was not her home! She was... out cold somewhere... restricted by these rough, callous constraints...! What had happened to her? She desperately tried to rack her brains for a logical explanation, but none came. Her brain had become a vacuous oval-shaped pile of matter. It was no surprise that her mind soon surrendered to complete oblivion and her heavy eyes drifted shut again. A soft wisp of her hair slid over her face and trailed onto the floor. As an hour elapsed, the fire started to die, diminishing little by little until it was nothing but a cluster of sparks crackling under a haze of smoke, a shadow of its former glory. The sand in the hour glass suspended in mid-air came to a standstill.

Nobody turned it upside down.

* * *

Rain. Rain everywhere. Rain slamming into the ground, drumming on the rooftops, trickling into buckets, swamping the fields and congregating in the cobblestone streets. Today was a miserable day for the good people of Grignael.

Meanwhile Morgana was seated at table inside a homely yet airy lodge close to the old, mucky town gate of Grignael, sipping from a tin mug of cranberry juice whilst staring intently into her scrying bowl. She had been in this same position for some time, but she was sheltered from the excess of the horrible weather. It was fortunate that she was a remarkably patient woman; it had taken several hours for her to gorge herself on the rewards of her carefully-laid plans back at Camelot, but now she was satisfied. Thanks to Merlin's unusually quick mind, Arthur had been quick to completely repudiate the deceptive dream she had planted inside his head. Indeed, he was riding out with Merlin by his side under her watchful eyes, and more importantly, no Knights accompanied them. Morgana did not doubt that she could overpower Arthur's men, but should they provide extra protection to him as he came after her, it would not be easy to eradicate all of them simultaneously.

And whilst the King of Camelot was silent and withdrawn, she had been putting the finishing touches to her magnum opus; namely, the death of Arthur Pendragon.

She had, long ago, set stringent parameters for such an end. It had to be slow and prolonged, with an excess of pain. From amongst the horrors of Lake Moon, she had found the perfect method, though she had been spoiled for choice. No doubt dying at the hand of the man-eating monster fish, Pisces Anglus would be entertaining to watch, but too hasty. The same could be said for Serpenta, who swallowed its victims whole. None of the mentioned dangers of Lake Moon held as much appeal to her as the_ Micolus Micolus_ fungus; brainchild of the multi-tentacled fiend Pentaclus. The fungus started off as a mound of black-headed spores that worked their magic the moment they were ingested, using the warmth of the mouth, throat and windpipe to reproduce exponentially, but over the course of two whole hours. During this time, a slight discomfort in the mouth would transform into an ache, which would in turn meld into a burning fire. At this point, the fungus started growing for real inside the mouth of the victim, emitting an asphyxiating gas as well as clogging the airways physically. Their fine stalks meant that several hundred of them could be growing simultaenously. Yet for all the activity of the spores, the progression of suffocation was almost deliberately meticulous. Nevertheless, in time the victim's breathing would become weaker and weaker until they fell unconscious. Death followed swiftly afterwards.

Best of all, there was no known cure. Tatael hadn't found one, so he wrote. The only thing that could technically save the poor unfortunates was carrying three bottles of the Essence around to deter Pentaclus in the first place.

But Arthur hated magic... so he would not be protected.

Morgana laughed, a full rich sound which climbed to the rafters and echoed eerily off the adjacent beams.

The thought of Arthur squirming and wheezing whilst the toxic black spores clogged his throat was a delightful thought. Oh, it would be excellent. She would make sure to have Guinevere and Merlin present, right at the heart of the devastating scene, slowly but surely watching their beloved King die. Then she would kill them too - Guinevere first, to remove the threat to her throne. She could be sawn apart by Pisces Anglus. The Merlin would have to watch his two best friends in the world die. How tragic. Or perhaps Arthur could watch Guinevere being sawn apart first- he would more willingly go to his own death soon afterwards. Yes, that was a better way. But then again, what might be gained from having Arthur witness the deaths of Guinevere AND Merlin? The possibilities were endless, and Morgana idled away at least an hour during that dreary, rainy mid-morning expanding upon them.

She tossed her dark curls over to the right hand corner of the room, casting a dispassionate glance at a cloaked figure lying on the floor, whimpering softly in her sleep. Guinevere had not made much of a disturbance since being ferried off at first light on the back of a horse, bound for Grignael. Morgana was relieved that this was the case, for she had not really been looking forward to expending energy in silencing her victim, especially when she was practically glued to her scrying bowl in order to ensure that Arthur and Merlin took the bait. Now that her worries had been allayed, it would not matter whether Guinevere woke up and created a fuss out of fright; Alawain was not far away, and wherever he was, she could count on a steady supply of opium being carried about somewhere on his person. For now, it seemed as though the girl was content to simply rest- _even if she had no choice in the matter_, Morgana added, smiling nastily.

Presently, the man in question entered the room, accompanied by his faithful, sodden indigo cloak that still flew out impressively behind him. The sorcerer looked very pleased with himself.

"My Lady," he began earnestly. "I have just come back from a ride in the forest, and I caught sight of Arthur and the boy. They are unwittingly headed this way- but just to make sure, I have left a trail of tracks for them to follow, which will inexorably lead them to us."

"Excellent," Morgana replied tonelessly; "And when they do arrive?"

"Well, we must be seen to be dragging our dear Guinevere to _Conquest_."

"I do not wish to be so overt; we must be careful where that silly little boy is concerned."

"Who? Arthur's pet?"

"Yes him," Morgana confirmed with a small smile hinting at anything other than distaste. "He may carry an endearing air of child-like innocence, but he has a brain. Furthermore, for some reason, whenever I try to kill Arthur when he is around, I never succeed..." She trailed off, reminiscing about past schemes that Merlin had confounded and nagging herself to recall why this was the case. "There is something about him that I cannot quite place. So, much care is to be taken. The best way for this to happen is to use the girl alone."

"Let her lead Arthur to his doom?" Alawain interjected, excited. For a man who believed himself to be suave, he could be rather childish when he so wished. This was such a time- when there was a chilling plan afoot and he was one of those to execute it.

Morgana smiled. "Exactly, my dear young man. Why should we risk our necks for _Arthur_?"

"Do you have a spell?"

"I have a better idea; all we will need is you, a dagger and the main road leading to the docks."

"I threaten her with the dagger, and she runs to the only place she can-_ Conquest_?" the spy finished for her, chuckling at the end. "You have outdone yourself, Morgana- truly."

"You flatter me, Alawain. Once she reaches the docks, Egwyth can grab her and pull her into the cog. He can then leave and remain with you in Grignael until I return."

"With news of Arthur's untimely demise!" Alawain couldn't quite help the gleeful, sing-song tone in his voice, and even Morgana was content to allow him his moment of joy- she fully concurred.

"Until then, I will already be on board inside a cabin of my choosing," she continued seamlessly. "I will need to confirm that Thomas- the man Agravaine bribed- is still on our side. If what Agravaine says holds true, however, most of those men are so dishonest that I won't have to ask twice."

"Fortunately for you," Alawain commented lightly, stepping towards her casually. Morgana appraised him without much interest and rose, signalling that she wanted to go for a walk. Another glance at Guinevere told both that the girl was likely to be out cold for some time; they were safe.

When they returned, their prisoner was wide awake, eyes rolling around in sheer confusion. Morgana shook her head when Alawain silently offered to renew her dosage of opium.

"No," she advised softly. "Let us rake through her mind."

"She does not suspect," he replied instantly. "This is the best quality stuff I could-"

"That wench is smarter than you think," Morgana cut in; "she cannot ruin my plans. Let me deal with her- you go and see how Egwyth fares."

"As you wish, my Lady."

When the front door had slammed behind the designated "Hunter of Persons", Morgana stepped away from the heavy shadows and directly into Guinevere's line of view with a ambitious and sadistic smirk. The girl shrank back in horror when she finally realized who it was- her reflexes had been softened by opium, so it had taken a minute of unfocused staring beforehand, but there was no mistaking that menacing gait or chalky skin. Morgana, exiled sister to the King was the one and only woman who stood before her. How it had happened remained a mystery. Only her present survival was important.

Now, she was moaning under her breath as Morgana took calculated steps towards her, heeled boots clunking softly on the wooden floor one at a time until they came to rest merely millimetres from her captive's face.

"Guinevere," Morgana announced in mock surprise. "Awake at last."

"M-Morg... Morgana..." The other woman rasped in frightened response.

The High Priestess laughed cruelly. "Your speech is not quite as fluent as mine, it would seem. I wonder why that might be."

"You?" Guinevere had somehow managed to raise herself up on her elbow and fix her captor with a shocked, questioning gaze. "Y-You... drugged...m-me?"

"But who else would it be, my dear?" Morgana's eyes flashed, and Guinevere scrambled into the furthest, dustiest recesses of the corner as the effects of the drug wore off instantly. Her reverse enchantments were quick, luckily for the serving girl. "Good. I need you to be fully conscious." She inched closer to her victim, revelling in how her one-time maidservant flinched, cringed and trembled with every movement she made, however inconsequential.

"Now, tell me; how much do you know?"

Guinevere whimpered piteously as she shook her head in bewilderment. Only one question danced through her mind, taunting her incessantly.

_How long before she died?_

* * *

**NEXT TIME:** Grignael is the host of a deadly game of cat and mouse...

* * *

I have nearly finished Book One; just two more chapters to go, and then the real adventure will be set up for Book Two- also nine chapters. I have tried to work a little ahead of myself, doing three chapters at the same time. One is the very last chapter of this whole story. I also have planned out some of the penultimate chapter. On top of that, I am working on Chapter 9, which is the last of this book. Now that I have Ch 7 finished, I can make a start of 8, and should have finished the whole of Book One by Saturday- fingers crossed!


	8. Chapter 8- Cat and Mouse

**Chapter 8- Cat and Mouse**

A small shack stood back from a major cart track that wound away into the distance, headed for the town centre. Inside this deeply humble abode, a lean, silver-haired man pushed a bucket along the earthen floor, to catch a consistent drip from his roof. To save himself time (and buckets), he could have used his magic to seal the permeable fault. Then he might have paid attention to the bowl of bread and hard cheese sat staring at him from his grained oak table and the stack of crackly twigs heaped upon his doorstep. But nothing could divert him from the terrible premonition of evil that hung heavy in his thoughts.

If all went ahead as planned, he would forever live in grief and shame that his own work (designed solely for the purpose of enlightening his fellow man) had been twisted to facilitate such a malicious and disastrous crime. He would never practise his clairvoyance again, let alone forgive himself. Though he had always been of the opinion that he had a good few years ahead of him yet, the severe magnitude of what might unfold in the future made him feel very weary all of a sudden. This vision had drained his usual health and vigour; it had cast even deeper furrows borne of anxiety into his forehead, to mingle with all the other lines he had acquired over the years.

For all of his own powers, he could do nothing to prevent the great tragedy that was to come; the foe he faced held an advantage in being a High Priestess, as well as a young woman who had only recently discovered the scope of her powers. It seemed as though Fate had chosen to ignore him, just as she favoured others. All he could do now was sit and wait until the news came, clinging to the foolish hope that there might be some delay in the proceedings.

He pulled out his scrying bowl and gazed at it with unseeing, sorrowful eyes. Almost instantaneously, a blurry image of two men riding in the forests outside Grignael materialised in the shimmering liquid.

He frowned at this. It could be no coincidence, judging by the direction they took, that they must have come from Camelot.

Then, as he had foreseen this morning, it was worse than he had feared. These two must be warned immediately to return straight to their citadel! They must not enter...

His expression grew incredulous when the two men turned from a fuzzy blur into clearly defined people. Surely... surely not... He delved underneath his stall, pulling out a heavy, cobwebbed tome called "Prophecies of Albione" and yanked it open impatiently, thumbing until he reached the desired page. After a great deal of prevarication and shaking of the head, the warlock would almost have been smiling had not the situation been so severe. He compared the ink drawing of the man in his book to that whom he could see in his vision. One and the same.

Could this be? Was _Emrys_ headed towards Grignael?

* * *

"What did you say the nearest town to us was?"

"Grignael," Arthur replied. His voice was muffled through the unrelenting downpour, but Merlin heard him clearly enough.

Time had flown past them ever since they had left early that morning, hot upon Guinevere's trail. Now, after three hours spent meticulously combing the forest for any sign of her, it was becoming apparent that the only place she might have been taken and not seen was Grignael. Then Arthur had spotted the horses tracks that confirmed his suspicion. Morgana might be powerful, but she was not so vainglorious as to attempt to ferry Guinevere away in broad daylight in the flat plains that preceded Camelot's lush and plentiful forest- this small town of Grignael must be the next port of call. The King had not heard much about the town; obviously his father had not considered it important enough to mention, but it had always occupied a small segment of most official maps of the kingdom. Therefore, he figured that it would not be very difficult to find.

The question of where his mistress might be being held was a different matter- one that he would have to consider once they survived this horrid torrential rain.

Neither men had spoken very much on the way; for anyone else, this might have been attributed to the severity of the task at hand, but for these two men- who had ridden out to face all manner of terrible enemies laughing and joking along the way- it was completely out of character. Guinevere had gone missing in the past- her life plunged into great danger, and Merlin had spent the entire trip mocking Arthur's reticence to confess his burgeoning feelings for her. Today, there was a resounding silence between the pair, the reasons for which remained unknown. Furthermore, nothing in particular crossed their minds as they ploughed through buckets of rain, their miserable horses meandering around the worst of many protruding branches, thorns and other such hazards. It was only on a whim that Merlin wondered what time it might be as they drew closer to the edge of a frighteningly steep bank and gazed out onto a quaint and charming valley bordered to the north by a pleasant river.

"Is this it, Arthur?"

The King's horse drew up alongside that of his servant and he appraised the terrain nodding all the while. "It must be. We must have arrived outside Grignael."

Merlin glanced across at his friend momentarily, his tanzanite eyes loaded with unspoken questions. Arthur pretended not to see him; it was always so difficult to maintain a cool exterior around this man, pretend that he was taking everything in his stride. The last thing he needed was one of Merlin's probing gazes that snooped around the caverns of his very core.

"Well?"

"Obviously we continue, Merlin," Arthur replied tonelessly, not even enunciating his manservant's name in the manner that they were both used to. "We continue until we find her."

* * *

Egwyth smiled from his vantage point at the top of a tree marooned in the midst of a vibrant green field where Morgana's mare seemed content to graze despite her drenched mane.

True, being cocooned here meant that he was the first victim of the unholy weather, but as promised, he would be well-rewarded for his surveillance. He was, in fact, the best man for the job, quiet to the point of being regarded as taciturn and above all, he was a master of potion making, having a wide array of tiny vials at his command, all designed for the most nefarious of purposes. Today, he used a most devious substance he had privately named "The Trail". This purple liquid would attract its victims (whose names were whispered during preparation) to any area the creator so wished. As per his instructions, he had poured out a drop outside the first lodge in Grignael, where Morgana had been very recently holding Guinevere until he had informed her that their quarry was approaching.

Without much surprise, he saw Merlin and Arthur enter the town through a rust-covered gate, wrinkling their noses at the horrid reek of decay. He didn't lose his composure when both men rode up to the afore-mentioned lodge and peered through the faded, cracked windows, or when Merlin froze and pointed to something inside that extracted the entire colour from the King's features. They must have found Morgana's laced cloak, the silent observer noted with a reserved form of glee.

He slithered down the tree like some form of malevolent serpent, and swallowed a whole draught of another vial lodged in his pocket. Moments later, he was a rat, black, sleek and lithe. The perfect disguise. He scampered right up to the lodge, unseen by both men and watched both men wrench open the door that he had artfully thought of jamming in order to frustrate their progress. Eventually, Arthur disappeared inside, sword unsheathed. Egwyth the rat only had to wait patiently for his work to pay off.

As he had planned, the King returned moments later with a painfully taut expression. In his hands, he held a beautifully inked map and one of Guinevere's bloodied lavender blue headscarves flowing between his fingers. Morgana's methods of gaining information could be particularly unpleasant, the rodent noted, smiling. Arthur was obviously thinking along the same lines, because he looked as though he might be sick, and unless he was mistaken, the King's eyes were not merely wet from being exposed to the rain.

Merlin freed the map from his grasp, shielding it from getting drenched and studied it carefully whilst Arthur stared dumbly at the horrid clash of blue and red on a finely embroidered head scarf. The rodent noted that Merlin's finger was poised above the word Conquest, inscribed in green ink- and if what Morgana had told him was true, the boy's agile mind would have worked out by now that they must head there to find Guinevere. If Merlin had looked down by his feet, he would have seen the sharp teeth of a black rat grinning back up at him.

As it transpired, the warlock only glanced up to see a small rodent scampering away into the aether. That was before he remembered what had been nagging at him upon reading the map, and pulled out the very note that he had found from Agravaine's belongings.

_"350 gold coins- Thomas- Conquest."_

* * *

"Where did you say you found this?"

Merlin was too shocked to reply. What a frightening coincidence... No, it could not be. Whilst he did not believe that Agravaine had anything to do with Guinevere's kidnapping, he couldn't help feeling strongly unsettled at seeing that same word for a second time in the short space of a few days. Matches like that did not just happen anyhow. Yet... Merlin shook his head, bewildered.

"Somewhere..." he floundered after realizing how lame his lies sounded; "I can't remember when nor where." He shoved it back into his pocket, shrugging. "Just a coincidence."

Arthur gazed down at the sodden stretch of cloth in his hand once more. Pursing his lips, he took a deep breath and listened numbly as Merlin advised him of the route to be taken. The horses were abandoned in the same field as Morgana's creamy white mare, whilst Arthur vanished back into the lodge to change into more nondescript clothing. After a few minutes, they were ready to hit the road.

No one spoke as they trudged through treacherous, sucking mud that clung like limpets to their boots, threatening to drag them down as water cascaded down all around them. Nothing mych happened either, not until they reached the fringes of the town centre and caught sight of a lonesome, disorderly shack with a leaky roof. Just as they were about to pass, the door was flung open in the greatest excitement, and a lean silver-haired man ran out onto the path directly in front of Merlin and Arthur.

Had he been any other kind of man, the warlock might simply have dismissed this unusual development as commonplace amongst hermits and other such recluses. However, upon setting eyes upon this visitor, he felt a strong current emanating from the other with such a force that Merlin almost had the wind knocked out of him had he not countered this foreign power with his own, allowing him to stay upright.

This man had magic- and plenty of it.

Merlin relaxed until he detected blind concern in the other man's eyes. For some reason, this elder refused to allow them to pass- and yet neither of them moved an inch, allowing themselves to be scrutinised. From time to time, Merlin was the object of a supremely knowing stare. Nobody demurred. The absolute sound of silence was only rivalled by the continuing deluges of rain hurling themselves from angry, growling clouds. Vaguely, all three men noticed that nobody else was walking the streets- probably preferring to stay at home until the worst of the weather was over.

A minute into this strange diversion, Arthur cleared his throat.

"What do you want with us, old man?"

The person in question seemed not to have heard him, though thin lips twitched after the King had spoken, indicating that he was conscious of having been addressed directly. A few more moments elapsed, consisting of all three merely standing, two staring at one, not making a sound.

Finally, the elder spoke.

"Arthur Pendragon walks willingly into great danger," he intoned in a rich, deep and chilling voice. "Turn back!"

Arthur shook his head, completely bewildered. "What? What are you talking about?"

"Arthur Pendragon is in great danger," he repeated, now taking to walking around Merlin and the King in a circle, stroking his beard with a seemingly genuine look of great anxiety decorated onto his grave expression. "Turn back! Lake Moon leaves few survivors!"

"What is Lake Moon?"

That stopped the elder, who ran in front of Camelot's King, stared him deep in the eye, and drew back, shaking his head in sorrow.

"Yet as so many die, so few know," he muttered sadly. "So few know."

"Know what?" The King had not meant to sound churlish and impatient, but he had no time for riddles.

The elder changed tack. "I know that you love the girl... but you cannot pursue her."

Arthur drew back abruptly from the intensity of his gaze, mouth hanging open. "H-How..."

"I am a warlock," came the simple reply. He cast a meaningful glance at Merlin, who flinched and recoiled, pleading with his eyes that his own true identity remain anonymous. "Dark times lie ahead. Be warned, my friend."

"You call me friend?"

"I do."

Arthur had nothing to say to that. He sensed a deep vein of honesty and truth inside the elder, which prevented him from strongly asserting that magic and those who used it had no place in his kingdom, considering his most important decree fitting retribution for all the misery it had caused. The elder seemed to sense his thoughts for he had more to say.

"Magic is closer than you think." His eyes flickered over to Merlin again, who swallowed nervously, trembling from head to toe. "I repeat; turn back."

The King was already shaking his head decisively before the other had finished, one unsettled hand gripping the hilt of his sword for comfort.

"No," he interrupted firmly. "I will find her, whatever it takes."

"And if you die?"

"So be it."

"You would... lay down your life for her? Forsake the kingdom? The prophecy?"

"A thousand times over."

The raw honesty in this statement silenced the elder. He had not been expecting any kind of challenge to his advice, let alone a consistent one. Prophecies, scared non-magical beings. The elder had assumed, obviously naively, that the Once and Future King would fit that mould- clearly, that wasn't the case. There could only be one reason; the love Arthur Pendragon held for this Guinevere must be far stronger than he had previously anticipated. He doubted that describing the entirety of his vision would sway the King.

"You are resolute," he conceded, bowing his head.

"I..." Arthur trailed off, preparing himself for the uncharacteristic nature of what he was about to say next; "I... appreciate your consideration for my wellbeing..."

The elder nodded. "Not all of us are evil."

"Clearly that is true," Arthur admitted so softly that Merlin almost missed it. "So," he continued as though he had not spoken, "we must be on our way."

"One moment," the elder advised, and without waiting for a response, he delved back into the shack and brought out a heavy tome, and six miniature vials. Wordlessly, he thrust them at the King, who had no choice but to take them. He only just managed to prevent himself from throwing a bag of questions at the visitor, opting to be polite as he simply stared meaningfully at the book.

"It is called "Mysticale Thoughtes" by Golyn Tatael."

"Golyn Tatael? The... warlock?" Merlin blurted out, before remembering that he wasn't supposed to know such things.

"Read, and be warned, Arthur Pendragon," the elder intoned, ignoring Merlin's question.

The King fingered the bottles, expecting an explanation. The response was even more chilling than the apparent threat of death hanging over Arthur's life.

"On no account must you ever lose those vials, my friend," the elder warned with even more gravitas in his voice than beforehand. "For as one slips from your grasp, death is inevitable. Give three to yourself, and three to the boy."

Arthur sighed. "Why?" he argued, obeying the command nonetheless.

"Do as I say, if thou will not return to Camulod. Read the book. Carry the vials." He drew back, hands folded over his robes. "I must go."

"But-"

"Read the book. Carry the vials," he repeated, and turned back into his shack.

"At least tell me your name!" Arthur persisted in a louder voice that carried well over the rain.

The elder spun back, a slight smile on his lips. "I am he whose first name is the first letter of this town, and whose last name ends with the last letter of this town."

With that puzzling clue, he disappeared inside his humble abode. Arthur's shoulders sagged as his mind fought to work out what he had been told. When he had eventually come to his senses, he handed the book to Merlin, who traced his fingers reverently over the ornate letters, feeling the pleasant tingling of magic running through his fingers, happy to have found a kindred spirit to connect with. It was with great reluctance that he shoved the tome into his sodden bag. Perhaps when they found Gwen, he could peruse it to his heart's content.

As they began to walk once more, Merlin turned around and whispered something under his breath.

The shack behind them no longer had a hole in its roof.

* * *

Morgana was leaning idly on the rails of Conquest when Arthur and Merlin came into her view. With a vicious smile, she straightened up and nodded to Alawain, who was concealed behind a stack of crates on the pier. Besides him, a shivering figure almost entirely concealed by a black cloak wept quietly whilst she rubbed her numb fingers in a futile attempt to coax some warmth back into them.

At the High Priestess' signal, Alawain shoved his elbow into the cloaked woman's side and she whimpered before standing uncertainly, and stepping around the stacked boxes. Briefly, it occured to her that she might be able to escape- a thought that was entirely confounded when upon turning back, she saw Alawain fix her with a particularly ferocious stare... and pull out a dagger with a wicked glint, even in the drab grey of that rain morning. Worse, he was rising too, as though to chase her. So this was how she was to die; being pursued by this sickening womanizer as though she was game and he the hunter, being lead on a merry, deadly dance.

With a strangled cry, Guinevere started to run.

Meanwhile, Merlin and Arthur had reached the deserted docks, and were staring in wonder at a Titan lying serenely in shallow water, her sails down, yet somehow retaining their pride, her decks empty, yet a beauty to behold. The ferocious weather could do nothing to dampen the haughty valour of this gigantic cog, and both men felt more than completely cowed in her presence. After the initial awe, a new question presented itself; where was Guinevere? Where might she be held? They cast their eyes up and down the docks. To the left, there was nothing but shacks and empty stalls. To the right, someone in a black cloak was running towards them, hair flying around her face. Neither men paid either observations the slightest bit of attention, more interested in that one particular clue that might enlighten them.

Arthur remembered first.

"Conquest," he announced suddenly. "We need to find Conquest. That is where she is."

_"You have already found Conquest, dear brother."_

Morgana stood towering over them from her vantage point on the cog with a frightening smirk on her chalky, pale face. Both men froze, chilled to the core; how had they found her so quickly? She was meant to be hiding Guinevere, wasn't she? Surely, she would not wish to be found?

Nobody spoke.

Only in the distance, the sounds of running footsteps were audible, but once again, neither Arthur nor Merlin paid any heed to them. Time came to a clashing standstill. The King was aware of a vague roaring in the back of his head and a haunting tune being whistled into his ears. When he shook his head slightly, he noticed his sister's eyes were glowing with gold and realized that she was casting some kind of spell upon him...

But he was losing consciousness... and a glance to the right proved that Merlin was also suffering the same effects... he must stay awake! Swallowing in determination, Arthur shifted his head again, aware that this seemed to slow the progression of Morgana's enchantment. For some reason, it was imperative that he did not succumb, not yet...

Who was that running towards him? He must know! A woman... a vaguely familiar woman being pursued by a man he saw unloading apples in Camelot the day before...He recognized these people, he must say the name! He must say the name of the innocent girl being chased relentlessly, the one who held his heart, and made him happy to be alive, the one who could rouse him from a deep bout of anxiety and whose smile made the sun seem brighter and its beauty pale in comparison... _Say the name! **Say the name!**_

"Guinevere," he whispered as the cloaked figure ran up the ladder onto the cog.

Arthur Pendragon slipped into unconsciousness.


	9. Chapter 9- Her Wicked Mind

CLUES ARE EVERYWHERE!

* * *

**Chapter 9- Her Wicked Mind**

The day passed. The next day came- and Conquest's captain decided that since the wind was fair, the great cog would set sail that day. He failed to inform the lower-ranking crew that this decision had been entirely engineered by a suave woman in a laced cloak. Corruption was the law of the land on the vessel, but the men at the top still acted as though all their business dealings were above board.

So... after the sun had reached its highest point in the day, the cog would be off... bound for Lake Moon.

But Arthur Pendragon had not awoken from his unconsciousness. Neither had Merlin. Their unmoving bodies were still splayed out on the planks of the docks, half hidden by a stack of hastily piled crates, courtesy of Alawain and Egwyth. By now, the sun had come out of hibernation and turned the full extent of its rage upon the ground, transforming it from sodden to scorching in a matter of hours. The docks were especially vulnerable to this harsh treatment, but that had not stopped the perpetually energetic crew and sailors from scurrying up and down the rickety wooden planks, carrying out task after task without showing any signs of slowing down or the merest hint of exhaustion. As far as they were concerned, yesterday's downpour had been a mere diversion; it was back to business as usual. Fish had to be counted and paid for. Money had to be laundered. Ropes had to be cut and tied. Spices had to be allocated to the greediest lords and nobles. Commands had to be yelled across the docks.

No one was interested in the fact that a dangerous sorceress and her captive were currently occupying a spacious cabin inside the cog. No one was interested in the fact that the celebrated King of Camelot and his trusty friend were being burned by the sun. And yet Conquest would still sail in the afternoon.

An hour later into this neverending melée of voices, clashing, clanging and more voices, Isabelle, the Councillor's daughter stepped cautiously onto the docks. She hadn't known why she had decided to come here, but having always loved watching the traders and seamen conduct their affairs, she thought it might be worthwhile watching another cog set sail for unknown lands. It seemed exciting, all this jostling, yelling and moving of crates. After a few moments of goggling at Conquest's massive sails being raised into the high heaves, fresh, fragrant and excessively proud, she meandered down the pier, dodging around sweaty, muscular men, intrigued by anything and everything that she saw; the cog's cat plunging razor sharp claws into the furry abdomen of a rat that had tried to dart into a crate of cheese, a pickpocket loitering around two fat genteel lords who were discussing their vast and endless wealth, two women tittering about mundane normalities of life and of course the sailors flitting from place to place carrying out the usual multitude of orders.

Pleasant enough... until she caught sight of a man she had seen before- one who had made her distinctly uneasy. Even in the heat, he wore his indigo cloak, but had decided to show off his mahogany curls to the world. Her stomach tightened as she recalled standing here not long ago, listening to a pale woman assuring this man that she had an agent in Camelot. What did that mean? And why did it make her so uneasy? More importantly, why did she get the distinct impression that this woman was horribly familiar?

She shook her hair and walked past them without much occasion, only hoping that her malaise was not justified in any way.

But then it was.

As she blinked and stared hard again, there was no mistaking the pair of legs sticking out from behind some gargantuan crates. Had someone been conked? Or worse, killed? Isabelle briefly contemplated calling for help, but quickly dispatched the idea as being useless when she failed to think of someone to call upon. _Please don't let it be two dead bodies_, she prayed as she inched closer, holding her breath...

..._King Arthur_? No! What on earth was he doing here of all places? Isabelle hurried to his side and put an anxious hand to his neck... Thankfully he was still breathing. Had he been knocked out? There was no sign of bruising on his head, nor upon that of his friend. What had happened, then? Her heart scudded inside her chest as she tried to piece this horribly abnormal puzzle together. King Arthur... in Grignael... unconscious?! Why?

It came to her quicker than lightening.

_"I have an agent in Camelot who is assisting me with this plan."_

Isabelle's mouth dropped open and her hand rose to cover it. Somehow, Arthur must have caught wind of some nefarious plot formulated by... it had to be her: Morgana. Who else could it be? Her mind conjured up the traumatic memory of Morgana's last invasion, back whilst she had been living in Camelot; the army of the undead, the forced coronation of Arthur's sister, the dark, dreary and unimaginably cruel two years that had followed, prompting her father to send her to Grignael under the cover of night for her own safety. How could she not have seen it all before; few women were attired fully in black, except to conceal their identity- and that skin... she should have known. The Lady Morgana had been known far and wide for her ivory complexion- Isabelle even remembered envying it back when the woman in question was the Old King's favoured ward. That was why she felt she recognized that woman. Morgana was in Grignael. Surely danger must follow! And she could not be far, if Arthur had reached the edge of the town. But... if he knew what she was up to, why did he pursue her?

Should she find him, he would surely die.

* * *

Pain. There was nothing but pain exploding with tiny but excruciating little pops behind Arthur's eyelids. And there was hot pain. Something burned onto his face. There was a yellow light that danced in front of him, yet he could not see it or make it out. But there was pain... and he was powerless to stop it.

Besides him- though he did not know it- Merlin's magic started to swirl around in his unmoving body, having been unwittingly paralysed by Morgana. It nosed into the very nooks and cranny's of the hosts body, wondering why there was no outlet for it to exert its force. It grew angry. It surged to the top of his head and down to the uppermost point inside his feet. Merlin's body trembled with its fury. His eyelids flickered a little as the crippling attack was launched again. As his body shuddered a third time, Merlin's body was propelled upwards and forwards, a distant scream sounding in the air.

When he awoke, it was because he was swallowing water- and too much of it. His magic had thrown him into the River Abavin.

Somehow, he was laid out on the docks maybe a minute or a century later. When he opened his eyes for the second time, it was to see Arthur and a woman peering down at him anxiously. Vague fragments of sentences entered his ears as he fought to regain full consciousness.

"...just threw him forward..."

"...magic?"

"...Morgana?"

"...what are you two...?"

"..._magic is closer than you thin_k..."

The word that could not be said! Merlin squeezed his eyes shut, wondering whether the telltale sign of gold had been visible. His eyes flickered open for a third time and Arthur's anxious expression eclisped the sun behind him, setting off the King's hair in a manner that made Merlin squint.

"A-Arthur..."

"Merlin! What... what happened?"

"I... I don't know." Tentatively, he sat up, rubbing at his temples impatiently. "I really don't know." He allowed Arthur to help him to his feet. "Where is the woman?"

"Isabelle? I sent her to the tavern to recover. She will be along in a minute." He studied Merlin, desperately endeavouring to keep a straight, unconcerned face. "Well.." he concluded, finally; "you are alive, I guess. We cannot waste any more time; Isabelle says that Conquest sails this afternoon, and Guinevere is on it."

"You are certain?!" Merlin exclaimed, a little too loudly. "But-"

A shadow crossed Arthur's eyes. "I... I saw her..."

Merlin shook his head, dazed. "Arthur... she was kidnapped. How could you have seen her in broad daylight?"

"I don't know, Merlin," Arthur replied in a pained, broken whisper that his manservant hadn't the heart nor the inclination to challenge. This was the other Arthur standing before him; not a King, or a figurehead, or a prophecy- just an ordinary man, a friend, a lover. Simply Arthur. This man revealed his true feelings and bared his anxieties to the world. And Merlin just listened. "Someone was chasing her with a dagger... so she ran onto the cog... Morgana was there..."

Nevertheless, Merlin was still flummoxed about how Guinevere could have appeared only a day after she had been taken. That was not how the average kidnapping worked, was it? Was Morgana really so confident in her abilities, or was there a hidden vice at work? He said nothing for the while and walked back over to where he had fallen, for his bag was still there.

The copy of "Mysticale Thoughtes" that the strange old man had given him, however was not.

"The book" Merlin gasped, stunned. "Arthur, the book has gone!"

* * *

Inside a cabin that smelled of wildflowers and fragrant wood, Morgana was perplexed.

How had _Merlin_ managed to get his hands on a copy of "Mysticale Thoughtes"? She had been almost sure that he had not heard of such literature- being banned as it was in Camelot? She did not dare entertain the thought that he might be onto her plan... Nevertheless, when she had disembarked from the cog to check that Arthur and Merlin were really unconscious, it had been a nasty shock to find the very same birthplace of her plan replicated inside Merlin's bags. The question persisted even as she reclined in bed with a tin mug filled with creamy milk; _where had Merlin gotten it from? _And there was a further dimension to that enquiry; "Mysticale Thoughtes" was a book of magic. So what did Merlin want with it? Only if he had magic, would he have understood what Golyn Tatael had written. Had someone warned him? Was someone on her trail?

Morgana slammed her mug down in frustrated anger and jumped out of bed. So paranoid, she was. Of course Merlin must know nothing; no link in the chain could have been fractured so as to furnish him with that knowledge; she had seen to this herself! Alawain had had no contact with Merlin, and Egwyth had only followed him when planting clues. She of course, had only spoken to Arthur thus far, not to him... Agravaine... Had her chief Spy unwittingly betrayed himself? Fretting wildly, Morgana reached under her bed and yanked out her scrying bowl. Furiously whispering some words, a hazy image appeared, that of Agravaine riding out into the forest that night when they first laid the foundations to Arthur's death... subsequent trips to Grignael that had been disguised as hunting expeditions... Agravaine returning from his last trip...

... and bumping into Merlin! Well, he failed to mention that! Her hair was trailing inside the liquid as she gazed into the water, fingers clutching her bowl tight. Was this what had set off the chain? Yet Agravaine had only bumped into Merlin and then hurried off! Morgana watched intently as Merlin frowned and picked up a scrap of paper from the side of the cart track. Nothing suspicious there, she was forced to concede. The image switched again to him watching Arthur's manservant irritably, and then studying Guinevere in a way Morgana would have described as licentious. She hissed abruptly, and the liquid shifted in response, obscuring that scene to bring her the same man again, this time hiding behind a cart unloading apples as a visibly sick Guinevere watched.

... Now Arthur appeared, regarding his mistress with some curiosity, before approaching. The High Priestess rolled her eyes as Arthur leaned in to capture Guinevere's lips with his own, and his hands slid perfectly into her hair, pulling her closer. She shyly put her hands on his shoulders until they parted. Then Merlin was in this image too- and that puzzled Morgana, though in retrospect, it shouldn't have been surprising. He was everywhere. Randomly, it occurred to her that his eyes were very blue in this image. Briefly, she contemplated what it must be like to have Merlin kiss her in that way... Nonsense! There was no time for such idle entertainment! When she had forced herself to concentrate, she had missed some parts, so she ordered the bowl to replay it.

Ah... Merlin stood next to Guinevere, examining her in concern. Damn. Agravaine was inching closer and closer... Merlin said something and Agravaine appeared quickly, cutting them off. Both men disappeared into the Castle. Morgana was almost hysterical with anticipation; was it here that Agravaine had revealed himself? Oh, she would slit his throat if he had! The view switched to a long corridor, Merlin following Agravaine with a puzzled expression on his face. Abruptly, the boy almost stopped suddenly as realization hit him... A stone dropped inside Morgana's stomach.

Had he...?

Yet Agravaine had said nothing! How, then...? Now she could see Agravaine following Guinevere out of the Castle doors, hiding behind a house and giving the signal to Alawain to deliberately overturn the apple cart... Guinevere saw the mess and slipped into an alleyway, then Agravaine wafting the opium around whilst Guinevere cast her eyes around in dire confusion until she sank to the ground in a heap. She grew restless as she studied Agravaine and Alawain drag Guinevere's body into the apple cart, and the Hunter of Persons mount his steed, ready to ride out of Camelot.

Nothing incriminating there. The liquid sifted once more to see Merlin in tears outside Guinevere's house the next morning (how adorable he looked, she thought randomly), then Arthur appearing... Now they were in the Court Room and Agravaine was shouting at the King, presumably trying to persuade him to stay in Camelot as she had told him... But still, no slip of the tongue! At that point, the image switched to show her Chief Spy listening outside Arthur's chambers... Merlin came out- and saw the King's Uncle sneaking off. He wore a puzzled expression on his face. Idiot, Morgana raged! This must have been the moment!

However, the next scene was a tearful Merlin hugging his mentor Gaius. She couldn't hear what they were saying, but neither could she see Gaius rooting around in his chambers for a copy of "Mysticale Thoughtes"! Morgana sat agape. How on earth...? Someone out there had anticipated her moves. Someone out there had tried to warn Merlin. Someone out there was one step ahead of her.

But who was it?

* * *

Isabelle was far more resourceful than she first appeared. When she returned from the tavern, Merlin had presumed that she would have been soothed with a drink and ready to face that alarming spectacle involving him. Instead, she was grinning wickedly and accompanied by a knapsack and some papers clasped inside her hands.

"I am not an idiot," she began, after asking after Merlin's health with such manners as to make the latter blush; "you want to get onto Conquest. I can help with that."

She rolled her eyes when both men stared blankly at her for a moment. "I suppose I will have to do this the simplistic way," she muttered, dropping the bag onto the planks. "Here- these are from the merchant who owns Conquest; apparently, he has given you permission to take the best cabins aboard her."

"But- he doesn't know us," Arthur interrupted as she made to pull something else out of her bag. His observation was met with another dramatic eye-roll.

"Exactly; which is why I forged the missives. Now, this-"

"-Isabelle, as much as I appreciate your efforts, I cannot be complicit in an act of fraud-"

"-is a grappling hook I managed to cadge off some of my friends at the tavern. Here, boy; you can take care of those, and these-"

"- I am the head of the kingdom and it is my moral duty to always abide by the law- if not, what kind of King-"

"- are a spare set of clothes- three, actually. Here, lovely; you can take these too, since His Majesty is content to babble on about the law-"

"I am not babbling!" Arthur retorted. Yet he discontinued to lecture her, only muttering about how he would atone for his sins after they found Guinevere. Despite the situation, Merlin had to smile. Eventually, Arthur was persuaded to take some food rations and other such odds and ends that they might need.

"Now," Isabelle instructed, "I know the perfect spot to sneak onto Conquest- come with me!"

She led them back the way she had come, to the left, weaving in and out of the sailors and growing crowds of ordinary spectators who had come to see the great cog set off for another journey. To their surprise, she stepped right to the edge of the planks, and slipped soundlessly into the water, only turning to motion for them to follow her as quickly as possible. Fortunately, this part of Abavin was very shallow, and since the wind was not too troublesome, they were able to follow their mysterious benefactor without too much trouble, provisions and all. Merlin still managed to bump into her when she stopped suddenly, pointing upwards.

"See that window? That is a store-room. Come to think of it, you probably won't need the grappling hook so much, since you can pretty much climb to get inside. Don't let anyone see you, though; these men are mghty corrupt, but they will take you for stowaways, and have been known to kill."

"Great," Arthur enthused sarcastically. "I thought we had these permission documents?"

Isabelle sighed. "Your Majesty, would you rather use the missive and run into Morgana, or sneak in relatively unharmed?"

Merlin had to smile again. It had been ages since anything had turned the corner of his lips upwards, but there was something so appealing about Isabelle's good-natured criticism that even he, the epitome of sobriety could not resist it's pull.

"The missive will only work once on board. Now, I will enter the cog as normal, since I have friends here who love a little extra coins in their pocket. I will go the the store room, and open the window. Once that is done, feel free to enter."

"Thanks," Merlin offered sincerely. "This is very kind of you."

The girl smiled her response before her face turned grave. "You have to stop whatever Morgana is doing," she whispered as a sailor opened one of the cabin windows above them. "She has been here before... I saw her even then, and she said that she had an agent in Camelot."

Merlin's mouth dropped open. "What?"

"Whatever she is up to, someone in Camelot is helping her do it. You must know this, surely?"

"No," Arthur interjected, as nonplussed as his friend. "But I did suspect that the kidnap was an inside job-"

"You were kidnapped?!" Isabelle gasped.

"No- Guinevere was..." He trailed off, biting his lip- and she understood immediately- perhaps more than he.

"I understand, my Lord- but this young man looked exceedingly troubled." She gestured towards Merlin who had pulled out that same note once more:

_"350 gold coins- Thomas-Conquest"_

_"An agent in Camelot," _Merlin whispered. What a coincidence- again.

* * *

Guinevere was leaning against the rails of the higher deck, completely obscured by her black cloak, watching the people wave goodbye to Conquest with sightless, lifeless eyes. Morgana had allowed her some fresh air, as though she was some kind of a pet, but the serving girl was not fooled; the High Priestess lurked around nearby, ready to pounce if Guinevere so much as showed the slightest inclination to escape. Instead, she took to gazing onto the docks, wondering at how carefree and excited they looked, oblivious to the darkness that surrounded her. They smiled and laughed, whilst she choked and wheezed. They moved wherever they pleased whilst she spent her time whilst she lay in the clutches of a malevolent sorceress. How little these dear, happy people knew, how totally unaffected they were from her dire predicament.

As she felt a strong lurch underneath her, she realized that the drip of moisture onto her hands came from her eyes. She was too weak to fight the rivers of tears, so she leant her head against those dependable rails and allowed herself to cry as Conquest took her away from the kingdom of Camelot and plunge her mercilessly into the great unknown with only the bloodthirsty Morgana for company. What a cruel twist of Fate- and what had she done to deserve it? Three days ago, she had been happy in her home, her life, her routine. Moreover, three days ago she had been having a commonplace conversation with the King after bringing him fruit. Agravaine and Merlin had made their excuses and left. The commonplace conversation ended up with her sat on the table next to him surprising him with her daringly amourous kisses. How happy she had been then!

Now, she would probably never see Arthur again.

Would he ever smile at her in the Court Room, or send Merlin to find her straggly bunches of flowers, or find some pretext to bring her to his chambers just so they could kiss once or ask her for advice on state affairs or simply gaze at her with so much adoring admiration that she could never understand why she deserved?

Guinevere's louder gasps provided her answer. Presently, she sniffed and glanced up as a systematic rocking had begun underneath her feet. Conquest was sailing away. She wiped her tears away with a piece of her cloak and stared at the docks where cheers and well-wishes were starting to grow fainter and Grignael seemed to shrink before her very eyes. She directed her gaze to the docks where men still scurried around, rowing, shouting, moving... Out of the corner of her eye, a golden head of hair flitted into view briefly someone on the lower deck. She paid no attention to it. A few minutes later, it appeared again, and she studied it awhile, thinking that it bore an uncanny resemblance to Arthur's own hair; she had loved to run her fingers through those soft, thick locks...

The third time she saw the flash of gold, she decided to watch it, since it reminded her of the King who had lost her. The figure was lithe- just like him, exceedingly well built- just like him and accompanied by a darker-haired man... just like...

"Arthur," she whispered as the man turned around and revealed his identity.

"What a coincidence," a silky voice murmured behind her. Guinevere was roughly yanked away from the rails and spun around to face her captor whose eyes glinted with a michievousness that must surely have been borne of the devil. She even smiled. "Arthur has joined the ride..." She let go of Guinevere and rushed to the decks herself, her smile growing wider and wilder as she espied Merlin sitting on a crate reading something from a scrap of parchment.

_How handsome he looked when he was concentrating_, she mused absent-mindedly. _Almost like a pensive statue, real and yet abstract._

Guinevere was about to turn back indoors when she heard Morgana whipser:

_"Now I have you, dear brother."_

* * *

As the night wore on and reached its peak, Conquest sailed through a small tributary to the River Abavin. This was not part of the original route, and most of the crew and sailors save for a select few with significantly larger purses, were not privy to the aberration. Most of these innocent, sea-hardy men were asleep in their bunkers, unaware that the great cog was drifting off course. However, at a designated point in time, every single soul on board Conquest shivered- not simultaneously, or for the same length of time- but they shivered violently nonetheless, for the temperature had taken a plunge a mere few minutes after entering the tiny tributary. This was an unnatural plunge, a cold that was prickly, subtle and unnatural, that gradually permeated the air within instead of attacking everyone on the cog in one merciless blast of frigid death. Everyone felt it- and at the same time.

In a cabin situated as close as possible to the spacious main deck, Morgana trembled a little in her sleep, snuggling closer into her blankets. On the frosty, unyielding floor, an intoxicated Guinevere whimpered helplessly and her head lolled around a little in wild confusion whilst she slept. A floor below them, Arthur woke up temporarily, stared around into the dark for a moment, and then walked over to the opposing bed to check that his manservant was comfortable. Merlin was quite visibly shivering despite being securely esconced in thick blankets. The King considered this before realizing that there was a nasty strain of cold infiltrating the room, and maybe he should light a fire, safety be damned. Moments later, he was back in his bed, though sleeping a lot lighter than before.

Morgana awoke randomly, and hurried to the window, an expression of childish excitement on her face. A wonderful feast of glacial delights greeted her eager eyes, long claws of ice sticking like limpets to her cabin window, a harsh chilly breeze whistling around outside, audible even through layers of wood, and the lightly frozen surface of River Abavin's main tributary, signaling that they had left the safe haven of the main route and had deviated towards Lake Moon. She smiled through the window in an absent-minded fashion, remembering how entranced she would be as a child when she saw snow for the first time. Without thinking, she blew onto the brittle pain, watching the ring of condensation before tracing out an elaborate pattern into it. She ended up with a near-perfect imitation of a rune her sister had taught her to draw and interpret. A moment later, the tracing turned orange and the cabin began to grow warmer in defiance of the outside world. Morgana almost laughed in delight when she saw it was working- that particular sign had always been tricky to learn.

The High Priestess glanced down dispassionately at the cloaked bundle lying sprawled on the cabin floor, a pained expression on her face, murmuring and breathing softly as she tried to make the most of sleeping on the cold wooden planks. Apparently satisfied that her charge was in no fit state to wake up, she marched out of her room for some fresh air.

In the meanwhile, the warmth managed to penetrate Guinevere's opium-induced stupor, and two eyes flickered open agonizingly slowly. Her bruised, cracked, bluish mouth parted millimetre by millimetre and a low groan issued from within the caverns of that mouth, irritating severely-inflamed tonsils. It took a Herculean effort for Guinevere to flop onto her side with muscles that felt like jelly and frozen at the same time. Her cheek scraped against a splinter of wood. Another injury to add to a face that was adorned in bruises, cuts and a fresh weal adjacent to her dry mouth. It was a desperately tragic sight. On another day, Guinevere had soft, full lips, eyes with a healthy glow and was full of energy; today, she was beyond weak, incoherent and dangerously disorientated.

Now there was the cold. She tried to lift her head even a slight way up, but her efforts were futile, so she quickly gave up, hissing in pain. These days, the anguish was a part of Guinevere's life; she had no choice but to accept it for what it was. In truth, the girl was barely aware of what went on around her, except for another tantalizing glimpse of someone she might have loved in another world as Morgana ferried her through the gangways hour after hour. Maybe then she could remember something from the maze of virtual haze that eclipsed her. Most of the time, she was either asleep or pretending, just to while away this cloying horrible feeling that would never go away. After an unspecified amount of time, her eyes shut themselves gently, but opened again some time later.

For the first time in two days, Guinevere felt a strain of rebellious energy tingling inside her chest.

She actually had enough presence to note the warmth inside the cabin. Somehow, after about an hour without her captor's return, it was seeping under her skin and revitalising her disused limbs. She managed to sit up- slowly, but after a minute of trial and error with stiff arms and legs, she was upright, trying to coax some circulation back into fingers that had been splotched with a lavender-blue. Time would continue to fly past her senses without acknowledging her existence; she didn't particularly mind that, as long as she could work off this incessant stupor that had been dragged over her unsuspecting, undeserving head like a rough sack. When she had regained enough consciousness to get by, she stood unsteadily on two feet for the first time. It was a liberating alternative to being trussed up and tossed around as though she were as inconsequential as chaff in the wind, and as inanimate as a sack of potatoes. With this new found, albeit decidedly creaky, autonomy, she made her way cautiously to Morgana's bed and crouching down, pulled out the elaborately decorated tome she had somehow known would be there; she had seen the woman in question reading from it often enough.

Yes, here it was: ''Mysticale Thoughtes'' by Golyn Tatael. Peeling back the front cover, she found a particular double spread named "The Horrors of Lake Moone" that had been marked using a scrap of parchment, covered with various notes.

She began to read.

At the end of the last paragraph, was a phrased inked onto the page in handwriting that she knew all too well.

_"Use Guinevere as the bait, and Arthur Pendragon shall be led to his death upon Lake Moon. _

_So be it."_

By midnight, Guinevere knew precisely what really lay inside Morgana's wicked mind. Arthur had walked into a cunning trap with Merlin in tow. She remained captive, powerless to save or warn them. Morgana had them like puppets on a string... Now that they had reached Lake Moon, Arthur's time was running out.

_Arthur's time was running out..._

**~END OF BOOK ONE~**

* * *

**NEXT TIME:**** Has Morgana finally gained the key to Arthur's demise? Will the warnings of the old man become true? Will anyone return alive? The Gloom of Lake Moon will be continued... **

* * *

This is the last chapter of Book One! I can't believe how quickly I have gotten to this stage. Thanks to all the readers, vocal and silent. After this will be a small break, whilst I start to write Book Two. I will probably start posting at the end of February again. Remember all questions from Book One will be answered. Stay tuned, mystery lovers!


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